


Greater than Gold

by displacedhobbit



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Durin family feels all the way, Gen, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, canonical character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 158,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/displacedhobbit/pseuds/displacedhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of tales about Fili and Kili as children being raised by their beloved Uncle Thorin. Loads of Durin family feelings and adorable little dwarflings with a heaping spoonful of angst. No slash.</p><p>Cross posted from FF.net and my Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ten and Five

**Author's Note:**

> AN - I’ve been thoroughly destroyed by all of my Durin family feelings and Aidan Turner’s goddamn perfect face. This is unbetaed because I am alone in my obsession (but if you’d like to volunteer, let me know!), so all mistakes, grammatically and historically, are mine. I’m planning on adding more chapters to this. Chapter titles will be Fili and Kili’s ages.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! Displacedhobbit dot tumblr dot com.
> 
> Also I own nothing.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Durin family feelings. And I said goddamn in my AN. Oops.

Kili is five years old when he asks, catching both his brother and his Uncle Thorin off-guard. Balin had ushered the small dwarfling back into his home after an afternoon of lessons with an apologetic look on his face before making himself scarce. Fili is helping to cut the vegetables and meats that will become their evening stew, and Thorin washing his hands and face after finishing up his smithing.

Thorin sends his nephew a questioning look; normally the boy comes back from Balin’s lessons excited to retell the tales that he’s learned or show him how far he is progressing in learning his letters, and it unsettles him slightly to see the boy so quiet. Kili meets his gaze for a scant second before looking back at the fire in the hearth, and Thorin knows that there is something amiss with his youngest nephew. He sighs and dries his hands and face before walking over to his youngest nephew and scooping him up into a hug.

“And what did you learn with Mister Balin today?” he starts, pleased when Kili giggles at his typical show of affection.

“More letters,” Kili answers a moment later. “Mister Balin says I need to practice.”

“Fili will help you practice, won’t he?” Thorin asks as he comes over to the kitchen area of their small home, placing the large pot over the fire to let the water boil. Fili glances up and flashes a warm smile, accompanied by a nod, before he gets back to his chore.

Thorin feels Kili’s fingers start to idly comb through his hair, something that he has come to realize the boy does when he is upset or thoughtful. He finishes preparing the water for boil, then sets Kili down on a nearby chair and squats down to be at his level.

“Was there anything else?” he asks. Kili is biting his lip, his gaze wandering around but not focusing anywhere in particular. “Kili,” he prompted, cupping the boy’s chin in his hand to tilt his head up and make him look at him, tutting under his breath when he noticed the tears in the boy’s eyes.

“What’s a mum and a da?” he asked quietly. “Fosur said I wasn’t a real dwarf because I don’t have any.”

Fili’s hands stilled in their work, and Thorin let out a huff of air in surprise, wondering why he hadn’t expected the boy to ask about this sooner. His eldest nephew fixed him with a sad look, and he nodded in understanding. “You know, Fili,” he said quietly, thumb absently brushing across Kili’s cheek. “I am sure Mister Dwalin would like to help you with your sparring. Perhaps you should run along and see if he has time now?”

Fili nodded eagerly, setting down his knife and retreating from the house without a backward glance. Kili’s brows were furrowed in confusion, so Thorin fixed him with a comforting smile.

“It makes Fili sad to talk about your Mum and Da,” he offered as an explanation, and Kili’s eyes lit up.

“You mean I do have them?” he asks, and Thorin nods, albeit a bit sadly. “Where are they?”

At that, Thorin scoops the boy up and heads to the lone bookshelf in their home, finger ghosting carefully over the spines of the tomes until he finds the one he wants and pulls it free, a bit ashamed of himself at the amount of dust that it has collected. He seats himself down in the chair and settles Kili into his lap so he can also see the book before he begins flipping through its contents. The pages are worn, old charcoal sketches of all of his kin, collected through the ages and salvaged from Erebor before the dragon could burn it to ash.

Kili reaches out to one picture, stopping him in his search. “Uncle! That’s you!” he exclaims, and Thorin chuckles.

“Aye, little one, that was me.” He turns to the next page, revealing another young man. “This was my brother, Frerin.” He swallows down the lump that has formed in his throat while Kili studies the picture, fingers ghosting over the lines carefully. After a moment, he turns to the next picture, and he presses a kiss against Kili’s hair, if for nothing else to give him a moment to settle the sudden wave of emotion that surges through him. “This was my sister,” he says quietly. “This was your Mum.”

Kili is very quiet and he looks at the picture for a long time without moving. “She looks like Fili,” he says a moment later. “And you.”

Thorin nods and brings one arm to wrap around his youngest nephew’s torso. “Aye, she does.” He kisses the crown of the boy’s head again. He lets himself get lost in some of his favorite memories of her: playing games of chase around the halls of Erebor, teaching her to spar with their brother, the look on her face when Fili had been born. But thinking of the joy surrounding Fili’s birth makes him remember the sadness of Kili’s, and he stops that line of thought before it can go much farther, striving to remember his sister in the good, happy times instead.

It is Kili who starts to turn the next page, and Thorin lets him, a soft smile gracing his lips when he looks at the sketch of the man his sister so dearly loved. “This was your Da,” he said, arm tightening around the boy again. The image showed Tili in his most common attire, his mining gear, for he had been one of the numerous dwarrow miners who had lived in the town where the boys were born. He had a familiar lopsided grin, and Thorin fondly remembered his golden hair and shining brown eyes, attributes that had been passed on to his sons that Thorin had come to adore.

“Fili may look like your Mum and me, but you, little one,” he said, leaning down to rest his chin on the boys shoulder. “You look just like your Da.” Kili nodded, fingers tracing the image yet again as if to help him commit them to memory.

“He was a miner?” the boy asked, curious, and Thorin nodded in return. Kili continued studying the image, and after a moment, he moved to turn the page over, but found there were no more images.

“When you are older,” he explained when he heard Kili’s sigh of disappointment, “Fili’s picture and your picture will come next.” He started to close the book and put it aside, but Kili stopped him, and instead turned back to the picture of Dis.

“Why aren’t they here with us?” Kili asked a moment later. “Fosur said that Mums and Das live with their sons and take care of them.” His brow furrowed in confusion. “He said it was strange that we live with our Uncle and not with our Mum or Da.”

“He is mostly right,” Thorin conceded. “Most Mums and Das live with their children. And it is strange that you live with your Uncle.” He sighed, and kissed the boy’s hair yet again, wondering how he could explain this to such a young child and make him understand. It had been hard enough with Fili, and he had at least been old enough to remember them.

“Do you remember where Mister Balin said our people go when they leave this world?” he questioned softly.

Kili nodded. “Malados, I think,” he murmured, and Thorin smiled.

“Mandos,” he corrected. “When it is time for us to leave, we go to Mandos. Your Da was called away before you were ever born; your Mum was called just after.”

Kili frowned as he looked up at his uncle. “But they can come back, can’t they?”

Thorin shook his head. “I am afraid not, little one. But they are waiting for you. One day, far from now, you will be called away, and they will be waiting to greet you with open arms.”

“Why can’t they come see me now?” he asked, tears shining in his eyes. “Why did they get called away?” He blinked, and a few tears escaped that Thorin quickly wiped away. “Why do all of the other dwarflngs get to be with their Mums and Das and we don’t?”

He sighed heavily, willing back the tears he could feel forming in his own eyes at the boy’s questions, all of which were completely legitimate, but none of which he knew the true answers to. He flipped back to the picture of their father.

“Your Da,” he said, clearing his throat when he realized just how tight his voice sounded, “was one of the best miners in all of the Blue Mountains. He was so loved and respected by all of the other miners and townsmen because he was always smiling and was so, so loving of those around him. Just like you.”

Kili nodded, but his hands had shifted away from the pictures and they now pawed and pulled at the fabric of the arm of Thorin’s tunic.

“Your Da was no warrior, but he was very brave. There was an accident in the mine, not long before you came to us.” He swallowed back the well of emotion again. “Part of the deep mine was caving in, but your Da was there to save all of the miners that would have otherwise been trapped.”

Kili had turned his face into his uncle’s chest, and Thorin sighed at the wetness he felt there. “But then he got trapped?” he asked in a small voice, and Thorin leaned down to kiss his cheek when he heard the boy’s voice waver.

“He did,” Thorin confirmed.

Kili just sniffled, and softly muttered, “oh,” as his fingers began tracing the lines of his father’s picture again. “And Mum?” he asked a moment later.

Thorin sighed. He knew he could not tell him the whole truth of his mother’s death. Young as he was, Kili was a rather sensitive lad, much like his father, and he’d always felt things very deeply, but the whole truth…that would hurt him in a way that Thorin knew he could not bear.

“You know that dwarrows only find true love with one other, don’t you?” Kili nodded. “Well, your Mum loved your Da so very much; he was her One. When he was called away, she was very sad, and it was winter, which always made her sad to begin with, because it reminded her of Frerin. But then you came to us, on possibly the coldest, snowiest night I’ve ever seen, and she loved you. You gave her hope.”

Thorin’s voice cracked at the end of his sentence, hating himself for telling an outright lie to the boy. Dis hadn’t even looked at him once he was born. She’d refused to see him, refused to hold him, refused to do anything but lie in bed and think of how she missed Tili. If she’d only spent a bit of time with her second son, she would have seen all of the attributes of her husband that had passed on to him, how Kili truly was a part of him to hold on to for the rest of her days.

He was thankful that Kili had been born in the winter. In those days, he spent the majority of his time travelling about, but he always spent the winters with his sister and her family. If he had not been there…he shuddered to think of a five-year-old Fili attempting to help his mother through the birth, caring for his newborn brother alone. The storm had been too frightful for anyone to venture out in. It had been too much for them to send for a healer days later when Dis fell ill. His stomach churned, thinking about all that had happened in the boy’s first few days of life.

“And it was a good thing, too,” he continued, pulling Kili closer when the boy turned completely in his lap to bury his face against his chest. “She fell ill from the cold not two days later, but you gave her so much happiness while you were with her. But, there were no healers who could help her, and she was called away from us to be with your father, and her brother, and her father before her.” Kili muffled a sob into his tunic, and Thorin brought his arms up to wrap around him and rub soothing circles against his arms and back.

“And then you came to live with me,” he continued. “You and Fili both. And I have loved you from the very first breath you took, and I will love you to your last.” At that Kili really did start to cry, and Thorin busied himself with trying to comfort the boy. He was surprised that he seemed to understand. Fili had asked for months afterwards when his parents were coming back, but Kili had always been the more intuitive and thoughtful one of the pair. Although, he chided himself, it was probably too early to truly tell.

It took a while for Kili to cry himself out, and just as he did, Fili pushed the door to their home open, smiling sadly at Thorin with eyes rimmed red from crying. Without a word, he lifted the book from Thorin’s lap and set in on the table before crawling up to sit with his uncle and brother, arms wrapping around the both of them the best that he could.

“It’s okay, Kee,” he said before pressing his forehead to his brother’s. “We have Uncle and he loves us enough for the both of them.” He pressed a kiss to the younger lad’s cheek. “And you have me.” Thorin felt a swell of pride in his eldest nephew, his heir. Fili had always looked after his brother, even though he was just a child himself, and he had always been comfortable taking on the responsibility. He reached down and ruffled the blonde’s hair slightly, smiling affectionately down at him.

Kili nodded, still sniffling and calming himself, and the three of them stayed that way for a long while, soaking in comfort from one another. Thorin was debating getting up to finish their stew when Kili asks another question that has Fili stiffening against him and a solid weight dropping down into his stomach.

“Will you get called away too?”

He sighs and brings his hand up to card through the boy’s hair, cupping the back of his head. “One day, yes,” he murmurs, and immediately frowns when he hears Kili’s hiccupping sob. Fili is shushing the boy quietly, but it is clear that it had never even occurred to him that they might loose Thorin too, and he’s scared, so he hugs them both tightly.

“Not for a long while, if I have anything to say about it,” he adds. “We all are called away, some day or another, some sooner than others, but I promise you,” his voice cracks, “that I will never willingly leave you.” Both boys nod against his chest, and he snuggles them for a while, knowing that he shouldn’t coddle them so if he wants them to grow up to be great princes and warriors, but he can’t help himself, not with how much he loves them and how much he hates to see them hurt.

It is a long while before he rouses them, not until Fili’s stomach rumbles and both boys are giggling. Fili jumps up to finishing cutting the supplies and starts dumping them into the pot that has been boiling for most of their conversation. Thorin can’t bring himself to put Kili down, so he cradles the small dwarfling against his chest with one arm and uses the other to tend to their meal, and Kili keeps one arm wrapped around his uncle’s neck and sucks on the thumb of his free hand.

The rest of the evening passes without much incident, as Fili helps his brother with his letters while dinner cooks, and Thorin reads a story to put Kili to sleep shortly after. When he returns to the living room, Fili is looking at the pictures, a small smile on his face.

“I didn’t know we had these,” he said softly when his uncle comes to sit near him.

Thorin offered him a small smile. “I had forgotten until Kili asked about them,” he admitted, mildly ashamed at himself for his negligence.

“I miss them,” the boy whispered a moment later. “I think I was starting to forget what they looked like.”

Thorin patted his arm gently. “Then, whenever you feel as though you can’t remember, you should come and look at this book.”

Fili nodded. “And Kili too?”

“Of course,” Thorin confirmed. “Now, I want to hear all about your sparring lessons today.”

Fili jumped up, setting the book aside with careful tenderness that stirred an emotion in Thorin that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, before launching into his descriptions of his lesson, showing Thorin the moves he had learned and boasting that he had nearly beaten Dwalin, despite the fact that the elder dwarf was more than ten times Fili’s size.

After a while, he sent Fili to bed as well, in the room he shared with his brother. Thorin hadn’t been able to afford a grand home for the three of them; he’d barely been able to build their small house attached to the forge in the small town of men they called home. The brothers at least had their own room, but they had to share a bed, as tiny as it was. It was a small improvement from the days when they had first come to live with him, with all three of them squeezed into one small bed, and Thorin terrified of squishing Kili in the night.

He smiled fondly as Fili slipped under the furs, hands immediately reaching for his brother and pulling him tight to his chest. It reminded him of how he used to sleep with Frerin and Dis when they were children, all in a ball of warmth and safety. He hoped that the boys would always be so close and that they would never know the pain of loosing one another as he had felt when he’d lost his brother and sister.

Once he is sure that they are settled, he returns to the main room and pulls open the book again, looking at his sister and brother, father and grandfather, of all that was taken from him when the dragon came to Erebor.

Kili wakes sometime later with a broken scream, and when Thorin comes to calm him, Fili tells him that he was muttering about caves and rocks and falling, and he feels guilty for causing the boy distress. Eventually he settles himself into their bed and pulls a still sniffling Kili atop his chest as Fili curls up against his side. The boys drift off again, Kili with his head tucked securely under his chin and Fili with his hand gripping his tunic at his chest.

When Thorin finally drops off to sleep, he thinks that he may have found a treasure more precious than all of the gold in Erebor.


	2. Thirteen and Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Okay, so please don’t expect updates to regularly be this fast. Today was a very convenient snow day, and I was able to get a lot of writing done. :) It’s more likely that I’ll update every week or so, but I have so many Durin feels that I just don’t know how to cope other than by writing them out, so who knows what will happen.
> 
> Thank you so much for the review, favorites, and story alerts. Y’all make me so happy.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit dot tumblr dot com.
> 
> Also I own nothing.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Adorable babies, basically. Angsty Thorin, but when is he not?

Thorin tries to hide his smile as he watches his youngest nephew. He had expected Kili to start trying to practice with his brother’s wooden swords as soon as Fili obtained them, since the younger always wanted to do everything his brother did. It reminded him of Frerin, which always made him happy and sad at the same time. His brother had always wanted to be with him, had wanted to be his shadow. It still haunted him that he hadn’t been able to protect him, or his sister, but he swore to protect his sister-sons with every fiber of his being to make up for his failures.

Kili is small for his age, much smaller than Fili was. Even though his youngest nephew was seven, he wore the hand-me-down clothes Fili had worn when he was five. The wooden sword was nearly as tall as he was, and the lad struggled to lift it so that the tip didn’t scrape the ground. He chuckled lightly as he settled himself on the ground, sitting with Kili standing between his legs and his back to his chest so their heads were at the same height. He laid one hand over top of Kili’s and gripped the sword, lifting it with ease to point directly in front of the boy.

Kili let out a delighted laugh, and Thorin guided him through a few practice swings. “In a few years you’ll have your own sword, little one,” he murmured. “One better suited for your height, when you start training.”

Kili shook his head. “No; I’ll get this one. I get all of Fee’s old things,” he explained, tone indicating that he thought it should have been obvious to his uncle. In truth, it was something that Thorin despised; the way they constantly had to scrape to make ends meet only served as another reminder as to how far they had fallen. His nephews should be princes in Erebor, not two small dwarflings simply existing in a town of men.

But, he reminded himself, his sister never would have met her husband had they not been driven out, he never would have had his precious nephews otherwise.

Thorin laughed lightly. “I doubt you’ll be as big as your brother was, even in three years,” he explained.

The boy let go of the sword and wiggled his hands from under Thorin’s grip before turning to face him, a frown set on his lips. “I will too be.”

He set the sword down on the ground, smiling at the challenge the boy presented to him. “You won’t be,” he said, making an effort to sound completely sure of himself.

Kili’s eyes watered a bit, and he shook his head. “I won’t be this small forever,” he half whined, sounding exasperated.

At that, Thorin pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You won’t, but you will be small for a while.” He raised a hand in a request for silence when the boy started to speak up again. “Winter children are always small for a while. You forget, Kili, that I was born in the winter as well. I was always much smaller than the other dwarflings, but you will grow out of it, just as I did.”

Kili still frowned, but Thorin could see the glimmer of excitement that always sparked in his eyes when he mentioned how they were similar. “So I’ll be like you?” he asked.

Thorin kissed his cheek. “You’ll be better,” he said, and Kili really did smile at that as he threw his arms around his Uncle’s neck and held him tight. Thorin wrapped one arm around him and picked the sword back up with the other. He earned himself another delighted squeal when he stood them up and spun around once.

“I never would have thought I’d see the great Thorin Oakenshield turned to mush by such a tiny little thing,” a familiar voice jested from behind him, and he turned to find Balin, eyeing him with a teasing glare, easy smile across his face.

Thorin smirked. “Perhaps old hearts do turn soft after a while,” he answered as he hefted Kili up onto his shoulders. “Did Dwalin take Fili out for a while?”

Balin nodded. “Aye, he did.” He chuckled. “He’s bound to be sore and exhausted when he gets back, but at least your surprise will be intact.”

“A surprise?!” Kili called from above him. “What is it? Why did you not tell me about it?”

Balin poked the boy’s leg. “Because you can’t keep a secret from your brother to save your life,” he teased, and Kili frowned for a moment before he accepted that as truth.

“Can I see it?” he asked, fingers whirling through Thorin’s hair. “Please, Uncle?”

Thorin laughed. “Yes, of course. But you cannot spoil it for him when he gets home.”

Kili promised not to, and the three of them headed back to the forge attached to their home. Thorin set the boy down as soon as they were inside and headed to the back, where he pulled out a wrapped parcel from behind a shelf of tools. Kili pulled himself up onto a chair once Thorin set the bundle on the table, and gasped when the cloth was pulled away to reveal a real sword, glimmering silver in the afternoon light from the window.

“It’s very well done,” Balin commented, hand reaching out to skim along the blade, fingers brushing over the runes carved into the hilt. “It is a fine first blade for a prince.” Kili glanced up at him curiously; he had never heard his brother referred to as a prince, but his Uncle was a prince, so he supposed it made sense.

Kili didn’t dare reach out and touch, but Thorin smiled at the awe so clearly etched across his face. “Could you have kept this a secret for a few weeks?” he asked, and Kili immediately shook his head.

“What does that say?” Kili asked, eyes on the runes that he couldn’t quite decipher.

“After all the years I’ve spent teaching you your letters, laddie…” Balin muttered, and Kili at least had the decency to blush.

“It says ‘honor and loyalty,’” Thorin explained quietly. “When I was young, my father always told me that the finest attributes of a prince were honor and loyalty to his king.”

The boy frowned. “Is Fili really a prince? I know you are, but, wouldn’t Da have had to be one for him to be?”

Thorin gave him a small smile. “You are both princes of Erebor, just as I was. Your birthright comes through your Mum, as she was princess. I cannot give you your great halls or crowns, not yet, but one day you will have them.”

“That’s why I spend so much time teaching you about Erebor and our history, the things I don’t teach the other dwarrows,” Balin added. “You do not have your kingdom yet, but it will come, and you and Fili both will be ready for it.”

Kili nodded, digesting the information silently as he was prone to. He smiled up at his Uncle. “Fili will be a great prince,” he declared, and Thorin reached out to ruffle his wild hair fondly.

“Aye, he will,” he agreed, before covering the sword and returning it to its hiding place. “But he will be rather cross with us if we are not ready for his birthday, so we had best get to the market.”

Kili slid down off of his chair, bouncing excitedly. “I can’t wait for Mister Bofur to show you what I made!” he declared. He had been working with the young toymaker for several weeks, on something that he’d managed to not peep a word about, a rare feat for the lad. Thorin knew when he thought about his work, though, because a secret sort of smile would always creep up on his face when he thought no one was looking.

He lifted the lad up effortlessly and settled him against his hip. Part of him hated how he coddled Kili so, but he was not keen on having the boy roaming through the marketplace alone. He was too small, and there were too many men who wouldn’t think twice of treating a young dwarfling ill for him to let either of his nephews out of his sight, or out of his touch, if he could help it.

“Come, Balin,” he said to his longtime friend as they made their way to the door. “A bit of fresh air in the market will do you some good. You’ve been spending far too much time with your stuffy old scrolls.”

Balin scoffed at him but followed anyway, muttering something about using his stuffy old scrolls to teach his nephews about their heritage.

They stopped first to meet with Bofur, a fellow dwarf who had always called the Blue Mountains home, and had been teaching Kili how to make things from wooden blocks. Kili squirmed free of his Uncle’s grasp and immediately launched himself at Bofur’s legs, and the dwarf feigned injury and fell to the ground with a dramatic flop as Kili sprawled across him.

“You’ve bested me again!” he declared, and Kili laughed breathlessly.

“Careful now, you’ll give him a big head,” Thorin teased as he offered a hand to get the other dwarf to his feet.

Bofur just grinned. “Don’t think it could get any bigger than yours,” he pointed out, and Thorin laughed.

“Come then,” he said. “Let me see this great gift you’ve created for your brother.” Bofur nodded at the boy, who disappeared behind the stall and came back a moment later, clutching a wooden sculpture in his hands. He handed it to Thorin with great reverence and care, and the older dwarf squatted down to be level with his nephew as he turned it over in his hands.

“You made this?” he asked, slightly in awe. Kili had always been good with his hands; his handwriting was almost as nice as Balin’s (even if he still didn’t know all of his letters without looking them up) and he’d always been able to braid neatly and quickly (though they always fell out of his own hair, so he spent most of his time braiding Fili’s or Thorin’s). Kili would sometimes carve runes into Thorin’s metal work with careful, steady hands, and if he was bored he would draw crude pictures on scraps of paper that Thorin left tucked in random places throughout their home, should he ever need a reason to smile.

“It’s a lion,” Kili explained, looking to his Uncle for any sign of approval. “Mister Balin showed me a picture of one and it made me think of Fee.”

He traced his fingers over the carving of a lion’s face and mane. He hadn’t needed Kili’s explanation; the work was exquisite and beautiful, a feat for such a young child. He turned it over again in his hands, taking in all of the detail that the boy had put into it, and smiled. Kili would be wasted in the forge, he mused. His skills would lie in detailed work rather than brute strength, perhaps with leather, and maybe one day with jewels, if they ever returned to Erebor where they could afford such things again.

“It’s wonderful, lad,” he murmured eventually, and Kili’s entire face lit up with a smile as he threw his arms around his Uncle’s neck again.

“Do you think Fee will like it?” he asked, and Thorin nodded.

“I think he will love it,” he clarified, and Kili hugged him tighter.

He tried to thank Bofur with a bit of coin, but the dwarf waved him off with a smile, telling him how much he had enjoyed Kili’s company and that had been payment enough. Kili thanked him with a wide smile and a tight hug, tugging another smile from his Uncle. The boy really was much like his father, full of warm embraces and easy smiles. His affectionate nature rubbed off on everyone he met; perhaps Balin was right and he was growing soft.

With a nod, they headed back out into the marketplace, one of Kili’s hands clutched in Thorin’s and the other grasping his prized carving close to his chest. They met back up with Balin in the marketplace, and found the older dwarf had several new scrolls tucked under his arm.

“All for your lessons,” he teased at the wary look Kili gave the scrolls, and the boy gave a loud gasp coupled with a horrified gaze. Kili’s handwriting may have been exquisite, but his reading skills were far below where they should be, and Balin spent many hours pouring through scrolls with the boy to help him learn. He laughed then, and reached down to pat the boy’s head fondly. “I only jest, laddie. These are for your Uncle. All about Erebor!”

Thorin gave him a questioning look, one that Balin simply answered with a smile, and they continued through the marketplace, gathering up the groceries they would need for a week or so, and picking out some special ingredients to make Fili’s favorite potpies. By the time they were ready to head home, Kili was dozing against his Uncle’s chest, thumb in his mouth and all, and Thorin’s other arm was laden with their purchases of the day.

It was on days like this when he most missed his sister. When Fili was young, she would haul them both to the market and spend her time coddling over her babe while Thorin lugged around her purchases. Now, he was stuck carrying everything, and it made him feel the heavy burden on his shoulders.

Balin must have picked up on his turbulent thoughts, and he reached out to grab one of the crates that Thorin had precariously balanced against his chest. He started to protest, but his old friend shot him a knowing look, the one that said you don’t have to do all of this alone, and he let it drop. He was lucky to have such good friends in Balin and Dwalin; he knew he would not have been able to care for the boys properly if it weren’t for them.

Balin taught them their lessons, letters, history, and anything else the boys would willingly listen to. He actually taught most of the dwarrow children in the town, and made a fair bit of coin off of it, but he never charged Thorin a cent, always claiming that he just enjoyed spending time with the lads. When Fili had turned ten, Dwalin had started training him in sparring and sword fighting, as was tradition in Erebor. Fili loved those lessons, and Kili was eager to start his own, though he had a few more years to wait. Dwalin made most of his coin through hunting and trapping, and he usually supplied their family with all of the salted meats they could possibly want. They both often spent time helping Thorin in the forge when he needed it, but business had been slow as of late, and there hadn’t been much work to be done.

Once they reached home, he deposited Kili into the bed he shared with his brother, tucking him in with a soft kiss to his cheek to nap. He wished, for the second instance in such a scant time, that Dis were alive to see her son; she would have adored him.

He sighed before heading back into the main area of their home, pleased to find Balin already mixing the ingredients to make the potpies. Thorin knew better than to even joke of touching the food; he had always been a disaster in the kitchen. When it was just the three of them, they often subsisted on simple stews and roasted meats with breads they purchased at the market. When Balin and Dwalin dined with them, they always cooked, and on those nights they dined like the princes they were.

Thorin was drawn out of his thoughts by Dwalin’s rumbling laughter from just outside the door. Not a moment later, Fili had thrown it open, face flushed with excitement.

“Uncle! Mister Balin!” he shouted, as soon as he saw them. “You’ll never believe what I did today!”

Thorin shushed him quietly, with a meaningful glance toward their bedrooms, and Fili offered a sheepish smile as he propped the practice sword he had been carrying by the door.

“Mister Dwalin taught me how to ride a pony, Uncle! All by myself! And I did great, didn’t I?” he asked, turning to look at Dwalin, and grinning from ear to ear at the affirming nod he gave. “The pony even tried to knock me off and I didn’t fall!”

Thorin chuckled and bent down to accept his offered hug. “We’ll make a right fine warrior out of you yet, won’t we?” Fili grinned impossibly wider.

“Supper will be ready soon,” Balin pointed out, and Fili’s eyes lit up when he saw what was placed on the stove. “You ought to go wash up and wake your brother.”

Fili nodded excitedly and all but sprinted back to the washroom to do as he was told. It was rare that they did anything special for any of their birthdays; Thorin and Kili’s were in the winter and it was often too cold and snowy for them to even leave the house. It warmed his heart that his Uncle and Misters Balin and Dwalin had thought to make him something special for supper. And he was thirteen. The next time he trained with Dwalin, he would be allowed to use a real sword. He had hoped they would today, but learning how to ride was exciting enough as it was.

He hurriedly dunked his hands into the basin and scrubbed them clean, before cupping some of the cool water and washing his face, paying special attention to the whiskers on his chin. He did not have a proper beard yet, but he wanted to keep it as clean and neat as possible. He practically tore off his shirt to finish scrubbing himself as clean as he could manage; he had been outside all day in practically the middle of summer, and around noontime he and Mister Dwalin had been drenched in sweat. He could probably do with an entire bath, but he was far too excited to bother with such things like heating the water and carrying it to the basin.

He paused as he crept back toward the room he shared with his brother for a fresh change of clothes, when Dwalin said something that piqued his interest.

“More signs?” the warrior muttered. “How are we to know that these can be believed? What if this is all folly?”

Thorin sighed, reading through a scroll and rubbing at his temple. “There is no way to know, unless we investigate ourselves. These signs could be coming from those who attempt to deceive us.”

“Well what of the boys?” Balin asked in a concerned voice. “We cannot leave them here, alone.”

Thorin sighed again, heavier this time. “I do not know.” A tiny bolt of fear shot down Fili’s spine. What could they possibly be talking about that would have his Uncle even consider leaving them behind? “Perhaps we should give this some time, should wait and see what develops.”

“We could bring the boys with us if they are but a bit older,” Dwalin added. “More trained and prepared for such an adventure.”

“Perhaps we could ask Dain for his assistance?” Balin asked, and even Fili flinched at the glare his Uncle gave him. “He has access to more resources than you, Thorin! He could send spies and get more information for us.”

“And he would take Erebor for himself if he could!” Thorin whisper-shouted, mindful of his nephews. “He would not even offer us sanctuary without a price; he would not do this without his own gain. I know what his price would be, and I will not pay it.”

“So we will wait,” Dwalin placated. “We will wait until we can either search for ourselves or we find ones we can trust to do so for us.” He clapped a hand to his brother’s shoulder. “This is a happy day, we should save such discussions for another time.”

After a moment of tension, both Thorin and Balin nodded, and his uncle murmured something about the forge before slipping out the door. Fili let out the breath he wasn’t even aware he had been holding. He was not proud of himself for eavesdropping on his Uncle, but he could not help but wonder what they were discussing. Thorin often spoke of reclaiming their homeland one day, but Fili never dreamed it would be so soon; he imagined that he and Kili would both be seasoned warriors by the time they set out for Erebor. And surely his Uncle would not leave them here, in this town of men, to go back to the Lonely Mountain!

He mulled over this new information as he silently crept into his bedroom and dug for some clean clothes in the chest located at the foot of their bed. Kili was sleeping still, curled up in his furs despite the heat outside. Once he changed himself, he stroked his hand across Kili’s cheek, gently calling him awake as he came to sit on the side of the bed.

Sleepy brown eyes peered up at him for all of a second before they brightened completely, and his lap was full of an excited little brother, wishing him a happy birthday over and over again. Fili wrapped his arms around him and returned the hug, murmuring his thanks against his brother’s hair.

He hadn’t been so sure of his brother when he had first been born. There was so much sadness and confusion in his life then, with the death of his father, the arrival of his brother, and the death of his mother just after. At first, he despised the little bundle that Thorin cradled with him wherever he went. He cried all of the time and made Mum sad and got nearly all of the attention from his Uncle. For five and a half years, he had been the center of their world, and he didn’t understand why things were suddenly different.

After Mum had passed, Thorin had sat him down and explained everything that had happened as best as he could. It was the first time that he had learned about his Uncle Frerin, and Thorin told him of how it was hard to adjust to a new sibling. But then, his beloved Uncle, who he’d admired above all others, (except for possibly his father) had told him that he needed his help. He’d told him that he was scared and sad and didn’t know what to do and that he needed Fili to be the best big brother that he could possibly be, and he’d been helpless to refuse.

He’d helped with everything he could, for as long as he could remember, and Misters Dwalin and Balin had too. It took a few weeks for him to warm up to his baby brother, but one day, as he was feeding the little boy, Kili had looked up at him with those big brown eyes, his father’s eyes, and tangled his hand in Fili’s hair, cooing happily up at him. From that day on, he was well and truly lost as far as his brother was concerned. He would do anything for him, and he took great comfort in the fact that he knew Kili would too.

Kili asked what he had done that day, and he obliged, watching with a smile as Kili’s eyes got impossibly wide. 

“A pony!” he exclaimed, breathless. “I want to learn, too!”

Fili ruffled his hair affectionately; sighing when he noticed the boy’s braids had fallen out. “You’ll need to be a good bit taller for that, Kee,” he said as his fingers idly combed through his brother’s hair, separating out a patch to braid. His braiding skills needed a lot of work, he knew, as they were always so lumpy looking when he finished them. Kili braided his hair most of the time anyhow. Fili always tried on his little brother, but the boy’s hair was so fine that the beads always slipped loose before the day was through. Nonetheless, he finished off the braid, tying the strands of hair around the bead, smiling now that his brother looked somewhat presentable.

Kili reached up to run his fingers over the braid when he’d finished and smiled up at him. “Uncle says that he was little like me too and that one day I’ll be as big and strong as he is!”

Fili smiled, standing up off the bed and pulling Kili’s arm to come with him. “I have no doubts about that,” he said. “Come now, Mister Balin says that supper is almost ready.”

Kili pulled his arm away from him, a shy smile on his lips. “I need to get something,” he explained, as he half crawled back up onto their bed and reached under his pillow to grasp something that was covered in a small swatch of cloth.

“What’s that?” Fili asked, a teasing smile on his face. “Have you gone and gotten your brother something for his birthday?” Kili laughed and shook his head no. Fili pushed his brows together in confusion. “Well, what is it then?”

His little brother bounded off ahead of him into their living room. “You’ll have to wait and see, brother!”

With a wry smile, he followed his brother, watching as he climbed up onto a chair to place his parcel on top of the table, where another item, similarly wrapped in cloth rested. A warm feeling settled itself in his stomach. Gifts were a rarity for them. They were so tight on money that any bit they could save was stashed away, usually for the winter months when Dwalin wasn’t able to hunt as much as they had to spend more at the market to eat. Thorin had already spoken to him about starting to work in the forge once he was able and a bit stronger so they could possibly make more money when business was available.

“Ah, just in time!” Balin greeted, gesturing for him to take a seat next to his brother at the table. “A most happy birthday to you, laddie,” he murmured with a clap to his arm and a warm smile.

“And don’t worry,” Dwalin added. “Your Uncle had nothing to do with the preparation of this meal.” Both dwarflings laughed at that, and Thorin scowled a bit, however insincere it was.

A moment later, small potpies were settled in front of everyone and they all began to eat. Since there were no women present, as there never were, it was a messy affair. Kili still preferred to eat with his fingers and nothing else, and Dwalin had a habit of literally licking his plates clean. In no time at all they were all satiated, but Fili still managed to eat what Kili had not been able to finish.

Fili glanced over at his brother and sighed, noting that his braid was already falling out, and he reached over and pulled the bead loose and tucked it back into his pocket. Kili sent him a rather unapologetic smile and he just shook his head.

“Uncle you should give Fee your present!” he declared, practically vibrating with excitement, and Thorin chuckled lightly.

“And I suppose you know what my present is, do you?” he asked as Thorin cleared the table and Balin slid the largest bundle closer to him.

His younger brother nodded enthusiastically and started to open him mouth, but immediately clamped it shut when Balin, Dwalin, and Thorin gave him a sharp warning of “Kili!”

Fili laughed lightly at him, knowing how terrible his brother was with secrets, and waiting until Thorin returned from placing the dishes in the washbasin before he started pulling at the strings tying the cloth around his gift. Once the cloth was freed, he peeled it back to look at what was hidden underneath, shock overtaking his features.

“Is this…?” he murmured, looking up at his Uncle’s smiling face with curious eyes. His hands gripped the hilt of the sword and delicately pulled it from the scabbard, mindful of how close all of them were to the table. “This is…”he murmured again, unable to find words to express his gratitude.

“It is tradition in Erebor that a crown prince receives his first sword on his thirteenth birthday, should his sword master deem him skilled enough,” Balin explained, faint smile tugging at his lips as Dwalin nodded. “One that is crafted by a family member, or very close friends.”

Fili looked up at his Uncle in awe. The sword was beautiful, fit for a dwarf, and it must have taken ages for Thorin to secure the sturdy materials and craft it with such care. “You made this?” he asked, and his Uncle nodded in return. “I…” he murmured, still rendered nearly speechless. “Thank you.” His fingers ran over the runes carved in the hilt and he smiled, warmth spreading through him as he remembered the stories Thorin had told him of his grandfather, of honor and loyalty.

“So in response to your earlier question, lad,” Dwalin added, pride evident in his features. “We’ll start training you with real swords tomorrow.”

A wide smile split Fili’s face then, and he carefully placed the sword back into its scabbard before jumping down from his chair and catching Thorin in a crushing hug. “Thank you so much Uncle,” he breathed.

Thorin bent to press a kiss into his hair. “You are most welcome,” he murmured quietly. He smiled fondly when Fili disengaged and ran to hug both Dwalin and Balin in turn, unable to resist the urge to turn Balin’s earlier words against him. “Turned to mush by such a small thing indeed.”

“Oh, quiet, you sentimental old fool,” he retorted

Fili eventually returned to his seat, fingers skimming over the cool leather of the scabbard, when he eyed the smaller parcel on the table. He turned to look at his brother. “Well, come on then,” he insisted. “I don’t think I can bare to wait any longer!”

Kili smiled a shy smile. “It’s not as nice as Uncle’s gift,” he murmured, but reached for the parcel anyway and crawled into his brother’s lap.

Thorin snorted as he watched their display. One day he would need to work on teaching Kili the meaning of personal space, but truth be told, he enjoyed cuddling the lad for too much for that just yet.

Fili unwrapped the parcel with the same care that he had the sword, and smiled when he saw what was inside. “Did you make this all yourself?” he asked, setting the cloth back on the table as he ran his fingers along the carving, just as Thorin had. Kili nodded from where he had settled himself against his brother’s chest.

“Mister Balin gave me the picture and Mister Bofur let me use his tools,” he explained.

Fili smiled when he turned it over to see where his brother had etched Fili’s name onto the flat back of the carving. “Did it take you a long time?” he asked softly, ever aware of his brother’s shy mood.

Kili nodded again. “Do you like it?”

Fili pressed a kiss to his brother’s cheek and hugged him tightly. “I love it, Kee.” Kili laughed happily against his chest, but made no move to get off of his brother.

“Might I see that?” Dwalin asked, reaching a hand across the table for the carving. Fili leaned forward to hand it to him, smiling all the while. Thorin and Balin excused themselves to tend to the dishes as he studied the gift. “You must have steady hands,” he commented, eyeing Kili kindly, and the boy squirmed in his brother’s lap at the compliment (as much of a compliment as one could ever get out of Mister Dwalin).

He reached to the table again and pulled Fili’s sword closer for inspection, smiling as he lifted one of the leather ties of the scabbard. “You know,” he commented, catching eyes with Fili. “It’s common for warriors to carry a talisman with them into battle. Something that represents what they fight for.”

Fili caught his meaning and smiled, while Kili just looked up at him confused.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, pulling a small carving knife from his belt, “I could put a little notch in it right here so your could tie it to your scabbard and keep it with you at all times.” He showed Kili exactly what he intended to do, and although the young dwarf regarding him with wide eyes, he nodded his consent.

In less that a minute, Dwalin had carved a small channel into the back of the carving, mindful of where Fili’s name was so carefully etched, and Fili was tying it to his scabbard with a delighted smile on his face. Thorin and Balin emerged just as they finished, and Fili beamed up at them.

“Now it is the most perfect gift I ever could have asked for!” he declared, and Thorin ruffled his hair fondly.

“Indeed,” he agreed, a swell of sheer happiness welling up inside him as he watched his nephews.

Maybe the signs were true. Maybe they would be able to reclaim Erebor soon. Maybe the dragon was aging and weakened and they would be able to slay him, if he were not already dead. Maybe his sister-sons would sit on thrones, dressed in jewels instead of threadbare hand-me-downs. Maybe their times of hardship were behind them

Maybe.

For now he was content with enjoying the love and affections of his nephews.


	3. Thirteen and Eight - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Sorry this took so long! I didn't have internet access for a while. Thank you so much for the review, favorites, and story alerts. Y'all make me so happy.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit.tumblr.com.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Mild violence, angsty Thorin.
> 
> First part is inspired by art from kaciart.tumblr.com/post/42264776833

In the end, the battlefield was a burning, smoldering mess. Bodies of orc and dwarf alike laid broken in the muck; eyes glassy and unseeing peer up at him from odd angles. He looked around to attempt to locate any of his comrades, but found himself alone. Only emptiness and death remained as the fires burned themselves off in the distance. His lungs are choked with smoke and his eyes sting, but still he searches, although he can no longer remember who had accompanied him into battle.

A strangled cry sounds from behind him, one that he could recognize instantly, even from the depths of sleep, and his blood runs cold. He whips himself around, sword drawn and eyes blazing, and does not believe what he sees.

"No…" he breathes in obvious disbelief, and Azog the Defiler's rumbling laugh rises up to meet him, dark and sinister. He should be dead! He must be! He'd killed him himself!

The beast has both of his sister-sons; one hand is latched around Fili's neck, holding him off the ground, even as the boy struggles valiantly to free himself, while his other holds his sword, skewered cruelly through Kili's shoulder, blood coursing from the wound in waves. It was Kili who had cried out, eyes wide with fear and pain, and a rage surges through him unlike any he has felt before.

"Release them," he demands in all but a snarl, sounding every bit like the king he is, but Azog merely smiles, clinches his fist tighter around Fili's throat and twists the sword in Kili's shoulder. His youngest nephew cries out in a way that is so utterly wretched and unlike anything he has heard from the boy before. Fili's struggles increase when he hears his brother, and he succeeds and scratching and clawing at the pale orcs hand, drawing rivulets of dark blood, but the beast's grip does not relent.

"Release them!" he cries out again, ashamed at the despair that clings to his voice, but his fear is stronger than his pride. The safety of his nephew's is his only concern.

The Defiler studies him for a long moment, too long for his tastes as he watches how Kili's blood is dripping, the pool of it growing wider on the ground. "I am feeling generous today, oh great Master Oakenshield," he sneers. "You may choose one to spare."

His stomach drops like a stone. Choose? He could never choose between them. Fili; calm, kind, gentle Fili, his heir, the lad who has helped him so dearly in all of the time they have been a family, who so fiercely reminds him of his own brother, who he couldn't protect. And Kili! Sweet, loving Kili who always brought a smile to his face and braided his hair and kissed his sadness away when he caught it, who was still but a babe that snuggled against his chest at night. Fili, who is his home, and Kili, who is his heart. He cannot choose between them.

His decision comes swiftly, and he thinks this may be what Azog really wants.

"I cannot choose," he mutters and throws his sword down with enough force to startle off Smaug himself. "You may take my life instead." It is a rash decision, he knows, and he will not be able to protect them afterwards, but he knows he cannot choose. He could never choose.

Kili is screaming them, begging him. "Uncle please! Please! Pick Fili! Pick him! Please, Uncle, please!" Fili stills and is wide eyed as he stares at his brother, not daring to imagine a world without him, and a self-satisfied smile pulls at the Defiler's lips. "I'll be alright," Kili promises. "I'm too little; I'm not important!"

A keening noise escapes from Fili as he tries to call out for his brother, or perhaps as he tries to plead his own case with his uncle. It tears at his heart to hear his youngest nephew say such things, to hear him belittle himself so.

"A most noble offer," Azog comments, sounding bored. "But I must refuse."

He wants to scream, wants to rip the beasts head off with his bare hands.

"You must choose one, or I kill them both." A wicked smile curves his lips. "And I am growing impatient."

"Uncle please," Kili calls again, much quieter this time, and he is alarmed at how pale the boy has become, at how much blood he has lost. It's too much. "Please save Fili," he murmurs, eyes drooping shut.

Fili is thrashing wildly now, shaking his head as furiously as he can in the Defiler's grasp. He cannot choose. He cannot loose one, and the survivor will never forgive him for what he has done. Whoever he chooses to save will despise him for all eternity, though never as much as he would truly despise himself.

"Time is running out," Azog taunts, and he tries desperately to find a way to save them both, to fell the Defiler before he can harm either of them. A whisper of a plan forms in his head, one that has the barest hope of succeeding, but it is all that he has. It is insane and the risk is too great, but he cannot fail them. He can't!

"Time's up," the beast sneers.

"Fili!" he calls out, arms outstretched. The blonde looks at him, horrified at his choice, eyes screaming with hurt and betrayal and hatred, and when Azog finally releases him and throws him at his uncle, he is screaming curses in Khuzdul, his voice hoarse from the Defiler's grasp. He hits the ground just as Azog yanks the sword from Kili's shoulder. The boy immediately sinks to his knees and cries out in pain, but when he meets eyes with his uncle, he looks oddly relieved.

"Comfort the boy as he dies," Azog commands.

The beast moves behind Kili and readies his sword to stab him through the back, to make sure that he sees, and he grabs at the dagger he keeps stowed in his bracer. He hurls it with as much force as he can muster, aiming for the Defiler's temple. His aim rings true, but it is too late.

Azog's sword is buried in Kili's chest before the beast even falls to his knees.

He watches, terrified at what he has done, as the pale orc finally falls backward, dead, his sword pulling out of Kili with a horrific squelching noise. His youngest falls forward and hits the ground with barely a sound and does not move again.

"No!" Fili is screaming, voice hoarse, and he scrambles up from where he's landed, not five feet away from his uncle, running for his brother, rolling him over and pulling him into his arms and begging him to stay with him just a little while longer.

He is sure that his own heart has stopped. How could he! How could he have let this happen? He trudges forward on numb feet, watching as Fili cradles his brother close and brushes his hair from his face. He collapses to his knees once he reaches them, heart twisting violently in his chest at his sees Azog's final act of cruelty. Kili is stabbed through his lung, not his heart, and his death will be prolonged and painful. He watches with muted horror as the boy tries to draw breath, as Fili tries to coach him along, brushing the tears from his cheeks and murmuring words of encouragement even as his own voice quakes and crumbles in the wake of his grief.

He isn't aware that he is crying until Kili reaches a shaking, bloodstained hand to swipe at his cheeks, and he catches the hand and presses a kiss to his palm, and brings his other hand to press against the wound in his chest. It won't help, he knows; the damage is too deep. It is futile to try and stop bleeding, but it gives him a small comfort to try.

"S'okay, uncle," he rasps, choking on his own breath and wetly coughing blood. "I asked you to."

He shakes his head, horrified. "I'm sorry, little one," he chokes out, voice thick with tears. "I'm sorry; I thought I could save you both. I was too late." He keeps murmuring apologies in between his sobs, watching as the light in Kili's eyes starts to fade. Fili starts to panic, his voice raising an octave as he pleads with his brother to live, to hold on, to not leave him.

The light fades away completely. Kili draws no more strangled breaths, coughs no more blood.

Fili looks up at him in utter disbelief, tears pouring freely from his eyes. He cannot form words past the lump in his throat, so he pulls them both close, clutching them to his chest as tightly as he dares. Fili screams his anguish into his shoulder and punches him with every sob, cursing at him every time he draws breath, and he can find no words to comfort him; he can find no words to comfort himself, so he holds them both close and cries in a way he hasn't since Frerin died.

Someone starts to shake him, to pull him away from his nephews, and he clutches the boys closer. Whoever it is will not take them from him. They shake him again, and, enraged, he throws out an arm as fiercely as he dares, pleased at the feel of hitting flesh and at the sound of someone falling solidly to the ground.

But it is for naught, and they are back not a moment later, shaking him almost violently, a distant voice that he vaguely recognizes calling for him. But he won't let go. He won't.

\-----

He wakes with a start, hands instinctively throwing the small body off of him with more force than necessary. Kili cries out as he hits the floor a second time, but is undeterred and climbs back into his uncle's bed as quickly as he can.

Thorin stares at him in disbelief and Kili grasps his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him. "Uncle," he breathes, sounding comforting and terrified all at once. "It was just a dream. It wasn't real." In the dim light from the dying fire in the hearth, he is slowly able to make out his youngest nephew's face, eyes shining with unshed tears as he tries to understand what ails his beloved uncle.

He doesn't believe him. It has to be a trick. They boy had died, right in his arms, before his very eyes! Without thinking, he yanks the boy's sleeping tunic up, ignoring the boy's undignified squeal of surprise, and searches for the wounds, but he only finds clean, unblemished skin. Eyes wide with disbelief, he reaches up to cup the boy's face in his hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones.

"You're alive," he breathes, and Kili only nods, his eyes betraying how confused and wary he is. He's never seen his uncle like this, so raw and terrified, and he doesn't know how to make it better. Thorin sobs out a cry of relief and presses a kiss against his forehead before clutching him close to his chest, the relief flooding through his system like a most powerful draught. The tears come hard and fast, and he knows he should be ashamed, but he can't be bothered to care because Kili is alive, and that is all that matters.

"I heard you screaming, Uncle," Kili explains, voice muffled against the solid weight of Thorin's chest. "I thought you hurt."

A dream – no, a night terror – but nothing more. His boys are safe and the Defiler is dead, can never hurt them. He sobs again and presses kisses into Kili's hair, thanking every deity he can think of that he is safe. He's never felt this unsettled, in all the battles he's lived through, all the horrors he's seen have never caused this numbness in his limbs, the absolute terror he'd felt when he'd truly believed that one of his nephews ceased to be.

Then he feels the crushing weight of his guilt. Dream or no, he'd gambled with Kili's life, and he'd lost. The memory of the light fading from those big, brown eyes that he'd adored since the boy was born flashes in front of his mind again, and he shakes his head to clear it away. For a long while he cries, ashamed at what he had done in his sleep, clutching Kili close and vowing over and over again to never let anything bad happen to the boy. He knows Kili is crying as well, in confusion and fear, he thinks, for he has never seen his uncle so distraught. He can feel the dampness against his neck, can feel how the boys hands have tangled in his hair like it is a lifeline.

It takes him a while to calm himself. "I'm sorry, little one. I didn't mean to wake you," he murmurs in a voice wrecked by his sobbing. "I had a dream that you were called away to where I cannot follow, far before your time." Admitting it out loud causes a fresh wave of guilt and sadness to crash over him. It had been his fault.

"I'm still here, Uncle," he murmured in a small voice that shook with tiny tremors. "And Fee is too," he added. "You can hear him snoring all the way over here!"

Thorin couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him when he realized that, now that the rush of blood had faded from his ears, he could hear his eldest nephew faintly snoring from the room he shared with his brother. He pressed another kiss to the boy's forehead. "Aye, that you are, lad," he murmured, pulling the boy away from him so he can see his face. With a sigh, he brushed his thumbs across his cheeks again, wiping away his tears. "I did not mean to scare you so," he mumbles, and Kili smiles brightly, and a tiny bit of warmth seeps itself back into his bones, even as the boy's eyelids droop.

The dream has left him unsettled, and he already knows that sleep will elude him for the rest of the night. Even with Kili's assurances that both of his nephews are safe and sound and Fili's distant snores, he longs to see his heir, to see that he is truly well. To see him look upon him with love and adoration, instead of seeing his young face twisted in rage at him, at what he had done.

"Come now," he says, drawing himself out from under his furs and scooping the lad up into his arms. "Let's get you back to bed."

He intends to simply deposit Kili into the bed he shares with his brother and wish him a good night. Perhaps he will read the correspondences Balin has collected about Erebor and the dragon, to see if anything has changed, to se if there are any more signs that it would be safe to return. Maybe he'll go to the forge and get some more work done, even though business has been dismally slow as of late and he hasn't had any orders in days.

Instead he finds, himself lifting the furs and nudging Fili out of the middle of the bed, lying down himself. Kili sighs happily and snuggles against him without a thought as he tucks them in, but Fili grumbles lightly, not fully waking up.

"D'you have a bad dream, Kee?" he asks sleepily, even as he instinctively presses up against his uncle's side. He drags a hand, heavy with sleep, across Thorin's chest, seeking out Kili's own and grasping it lightly once he finds it.

"I did," Thorin answers, drawing one hand up to lazily card his hand through his eldest nephew's hair.

Fili's brow furrows in confusion, as if he cannot fathom the thought of his uncle having a bad dream, though he doesn't open his eyes.

"I hope you do not mind if I stay with you tonight," he adds, pressing a kiss against Kili's forehead. The lad had fallen asleep almost as soon as they had lain down, thumb lodged securely in his mouth. He is tempted to pull it free – the boy is getting to old for such things – but he can't bring himself to.

"Tha s'okay," Fili murmurs, before dropping off to sleep again, clearly contented.

It comforts him greatly to see them both well, to see that they are not angry with him, but sleep doesn't come easily to him, as he'd expected. His thoughts drift aimlessly for a while, though he determinedly turns them away from the dream and Frerin when they drift that way. He is largely unsuccessful in his endeavors, and he keeps seeing Kili's blood slipping away, Fili's eyes boring into his with hatred. His heart sits heavy with guilt in his chest, no matter how hard he tries to shake it. It was his fault. His fault. He had failed his nephews just as he'd failed Frerin. And Dis. And his father.

Kili wakes twice during the night from bad dreams, as he is prone to, though it is usually Fili who calms him and coaxes him back to sleep. Thorin sings him back to sleep both times, with lullabies that he remembers his mother singing to him when he was young, lullabies that he'd once sang to his brother and sister as well.

He vows to himself over and over again that he won't let that night terror become a reality, but a sinking feeling in his gut keeps telling him he will fail.

He wakes to the smell of sausages sizzling on the stovetop. Sunlight is peeking in from the tiny window in his nephews' room, and Kili's small frame is sprawled across his chest, hands tangled in his sleeping tunic to keep him close. Exhaustion must have taken him, though he doesn't remember falling asleep, and he doesn't feel as though he has rested at all. It comforts him greatly that there were no more dreams.

He disentangles himself from his nephew as gently as possible and tucks the furs back around him, kissing him lightly on the forehead when the boy furrows his brow in obviously displeasure at his uncle's departure.

Guilt chokes at him. Kili adores him, he knows. Balin points it out enough to him, but it's clear to anyone who can see that the lad loves his uncle and brother dearly. He is fiercely loyal to them both, even at such a young age, and he knows that Kili would do anything he asked of him, without question or hesitation. He often wonders if anyone loves as deeply as Kili does, feels things as deeply as he does. He thinks Frerin might have, but he squashes that thought as quickly as it comes. He'd failed Frerin; he would not fail Kili, no matter how similar he thought them to be.

He slips out of the room quietly, and is unsurprised to see Fili at the stove, poking at the cooking links of sausages in the pan. He flashes a bright smile at his uncle when he notices him.

"I hope I didn't wake you," he apologizes, but Thorin waves it off as he pours himself a glass of water from the pitcher. His throat feels tight from crying, and he knows his voice will sound wretched when he speaks.

"Mister Dwalin came by a bit ago," the lad continues, poking a few of the sausages with a fork and removing the ones that he deems cooked enough.

"Did he?" Thorin asks, pleased to her that his voice is not as wrecked as he thought it would be. "Have I slept that late?"

Fili shook his head. "No, it was before dawn. He was going out hunting, but he wanted to know if I could train with him when he gets back. He said you should join us, if the forge was slow again."

"And why were you up so early?" he wondered aloud. Fili flushed lightly, and didn't immediately answer him. "Fili?" he prompted.

"I missed Mum and Da," he answered finally, removing the last few sausages from the stove and dousing the fire from under the heating stone. "I just thought…I had a dream last night and I heard the lullaby that Mum used to sing to me, and when I woke I just wanted to see them, and I couldn't get back to sleep," he explained.

Thorin sighed, noticing the old book that lay open to the drawing of his sister on the table. "I am afraid that may have been my fault," he answered. "I sung one that I remembered from my own childhood to Kili to help him fall back asleep."

"You mean you remember it?" Fili exclaimed, excitement taking over his features. "I always liked it, but I could never remember the words."

Thorin smiled softly, and squeezed the boy's shoulder. "I will teach it to you, then," he murmured. "But I suppose we'll need to rouse your brother. He'll be cross if we let his breakfast grow cold."

Fili nodded, knowing far too well how Kili's temper tantrums could make for a rough start of the day. "I'll go get him, Uncle!"

He chuckled lightly as the boy all but ran back to his room to get his brother, before he focused his attention on the book on the table. He missed his sister dearly, and it was nice to see her face once in a while, even if the only way he could was through the sketch. He flipped over to the picture of her husband, and smiled fondly.

The boys were a perfect blend of their parents. Fili so strongly resembled the line of Durin, with the shape of his face and the blue of his eyes, though his hair coloring was all from his father. Kili was a miniaturized version of his father in appearance, russet eyes and all, but he had inherited Thorin and Dis' inky black locks. Fili had inherited much of his mother's spirit, was stubborn like his Uncle, and kind like his father. Kili was as loving as his father, and had gotten his mother's quick-wit and steadfast loyalty. Unfortunately, he was also prone to brooding like his Uncle.

He had just clearing the book from the table and returning it to it's proper place on the shelf (a low enough one, where both lads could easily reach) and was placing the plates of food on the table, when Fili returned with Kili settled on his hip, still looking very much asleep. Thorin couldn't help but chuckle. The blond started to deposit his little brother on a chair, but the boy just groaned and clung tighter to him. Ultimately, Fili just sighed and sat in his own chair, settling Kili on his lap and digging into his breakfast, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to dine with his brother asleep in his lap.

Thorin can't help the barking laugh that escapes him.

The last wisps of his dream fade away. He is still afraid that he will fail the lads one day, but he decides to focus on the time that he has with them now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Part 2 will be up soon.


	4. Thirteen and Eight - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Woohoo! Here’s part 2. This chapter takes place on the day after Thorin has that pesky little dream. Thank you so much for the review, favorites, and story alerts. Y’all make me so happy.
> 
> Just an FYI, I am going to have spotty to no internet for the next week and a half, so don’t expect any updates for a couple of weeks! I promise I haven’t abandoned this (in face, chapter 5 is almost finished!).
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit dot tumblr dot com.  
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Mild violence, angsty Durins.

“You did well, laddie,” Dwalin praised as they were neared the town, noticing how Fili still pouted. “It was your first hunting outing, first time with throwing knives, no less!”

“I still didn’t kill anything,” he muttered, kicking a stone as he walked. “You and Uncle got everything you went after! I didn’t even come close!”

Thorin laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’ll come in time, Fili. As Dwalin said, it was your first outing. You have many years to improve on your skills.”

“Besides,” Dwalin added, “that was a rubbish spot for hunting. Naught more than squirrels and birds in the entire place! And if it weren’t for those storm clouds coming in, we would have stayed out there all day and you’d have caught something for sure.”

“You still killed plenty,” Fili muttered, casting a wary glance up at the darkened sky. It was unnatural for the sky to be so foul when it was barely past midday.

“Fili,” Thorin warned gently, thoroughly fed up with his nephew’s sulking. Too much like himself, Fili was sometimes, wanting to be the best on his first try, not accepting anything less.

Fili gave him a sheepish look, and murmured a “Sorry, Uncle,” under his breath.

Abruptly, Dwalin stopped them, and cast a concerned glance at Thorin. “Do you hear that?”

Thorin strained his ears, but still heard nothing, so he shook his head.

“I thought I heard…well, we should be able to hear all of the ruckus from the marketplace by now, should we not?” he asked, and Thorin’s heart sank into his stomach.

He knew in his gut that Dwalin was right; they should be able to hear something, storm clouds or no. Men and dwarrows were both selfish, no one would think to start closing up their shops and packing things away until the storm was completely upon them, if they could help it.

“Everyone has probably gone inside because of the clouds,” Fili offered, but he started to walk again at a much faster pace, Thorin and Dwalin immediately falling into step with him. Dwalin eventually broke out into a run, and Thorin followed suit. Fili tried to, but he couldn’t keep up, and he called after his uncle in an exasperated tone. They started running past the smaller houses on the outskirts of the town, headed toward the main street and the marketplace. The two elder dwarrows stopped in their tracks as soon as they reached it, and Fili was finally able to catch up to them. He started to ask what was going on, but his words died in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

The street was littered with bodies of men and goblins, streaks of red and black blood painting the stone a grisly tone.

Thorin and Dwalin drew their swords, but Fili stood grounded to the spot. “What…” he murmured, trying to comprehend the scene in front of him. This was nothing like the drawings of battle and victory found in his Uncle’s books. This was his home, and there was death and blood and goblins and it didn’t make any sense.

“Fili, draw your sword and stay behind me,” Thorin commanded, using a tone he had never heard before, and Fili immediately obeyed, though he fumbled with his sword as he did. Dwalin made some kind of animal call that he couldn’t recognize, and a moment later, a door creaked open to reveal Balin’s anxious face.

“Get in here!” he called, waving a frantic hand. “Quickly!”

They obeyed immediately, and as soon as they were inside, Balin bolted the door shut. They were in Bofur and his brother Bombur’s home, though neither of the brothers seemed to be present.

“What happened?” Thorin demanded, eyes taking in Balin’s bloodstained clothes warily, nodding at the other dwarrows that stood huddled about.

“Filthy goblins,” he muttered, tone darker than Fili had ever heard it. “The clouds must have made it dark enough for them to come out. Bombur thought they might have been hiding in the caves nearby. The men haven’t been patrolling so we’ve no way of knowing. They just burst straight into the marketplace like this was their own town. Most of the men didn’t stand a chance.” He sighed heavily. “And they’ve been coming in waves. Every time we think we’ve felled them all more come round.”

“And where is Bombur?” Dwalin asked, glancing out the window.

“In the back,” he sighed. “I had some of the younger ones in the marketplace for their lessons, and they’re back there too. He’s keeping them company.”

“Kili?” Fili asked, immediately starting to walk to the hallway.

“He’s not here,” Balin sighed warily.

Thorin felt a cold dread of panic as he watched Fili look up at his longtime friend with wide eyes. “Where is he?” he asked, voice shaking.

“He was with Bofur, in the market,” Balin groaned. “We haven’t been able to make it that far yet. When the goblins come, they’re coming from that side.”

Dwalin scoffed. “Then why are we hiding inside like cowards?”

“The children,” his brother scolded in return. “They’re frightened and separated from their parents; we are trying to keep them calm.”

“Fili can keep them calm,” Thorin commanded. “The rest of us with go out and meet them as they come, should there be more, and if there aren’t, we’ll flush them out of their caves and slay them all.”

“But Uncle!” Fili started to protest. He wanted to go and fight too. “I need to find Kili!”

Thorin squatted down so he was eye level with his nephew. “I need you to do this for me, Fili. I will find him; I promise you.” He cupped the boy’s chin when he vigorously shook his head. “I promise,” he repeated, desperate to soothe the boy.

A curdling goblin call sounded from outside the house, and without a second thought, Dwalin was dragging Fili to the back room, hollering for Bombur to come to arms. The door slammed shut and Fili suddenly found himself surrounded by three dwarfling lads, all close to Kili’s age, completely lost as to what to do.

\-----

Kili whimpered at the sounds of the shop front being torn apart, at the clash of metal on metal and the screams of men and goblin alike. They had just been sitting outside, Kili working on another carving as Bofur gave him gentle pointers, when the goblins descended. Bofur had immediately grabbed for the lad and pulled him close, disappearing into the shop and hiding them in an empty cellar under the floorboards where he stored his extra toys and supplies.

“Shhh,” the dwarf soothed, rubbing his hands in circles across the dwarfling’s back. “You must be quiet, lad,” he murmured, directly into Kili’s ear. “We mustn’t let them know you are down here.”

The boy nodded, shaking violently against the toymaker’s chest. Bofur pitied him, he knew the lad had to be traumatized. The goblins’ first kills had happened not more than ten feet away from them. He brought one hand up to card through the boy’s hair, shushing him once more. The lad was much too young to see such bloodshed, such violence.

Dwarrows pride themselves on their skill as warriors. But because of their long lives, and their long childhoods, they tried to keep their dwarflings away from the true horrors of bloodshed for as long as possible. The first time Bofur remembered seeing death was when he was nearly thirty, and it had haunted him for weeks afterward. Kili was only eight, far, far too young for such violence.

A loud crashing sounded from above them, and he knew that the goblins must be rummaging through his store, looking for who knows what. He kept one arm firmly locked around Kili and reached for his mattock with the other. If it weren’t for the lad curled up against his chest, he would be out in the marketplace killing every goblin in sight, but he knew he couldn’t leave the lad alone. He’d grown much too fond of Kili in the past few months, since the boy had started to take an interest in woodworking. Not to mention that his protective instincts as a big brother had kicked in the moment he’d seen the fear in the lad’s eyes as the goblins came pouring into the street.

There was also the small matter that Thorin would probably skin him alive if anything happened to Kili while he was in his care.

Another crash comes from directly above their heads, and Kili starts violently against him, but doesn’t make a sound. Bofur realizes with a sinking feeling that the goblins have probably knocked over the heavy shelves that line the back of his shop. Based on where the crash sounded from, he wagers that the shelf would have fallen directly on top of the panel in the floor they are hidden under.

They’re trapped. Safe from the goblins, but almost assuredly trapped in the cellar. Perhaps he can chop their way out with his mattock, but he doesn’t dare try while the sounds of battle keep raging on from above him. Bombur would be able to figure out where he had hidden them, and he hoped that his little brother was putting up a good fight, along with the rest of the dwarrows.

The men in this town were woefully unprepared for such an onslaught, he knew. Their fighting skills were abysmal at best, and most of them did not even own swords, despite the fine forge that Thorin and Dwalin ran. There was a small group of men that were responsible for patrolling the village and it’s outlying lands, but no goblins had been sighted in these parts for years, and the men had stopped doing them. It would be the dwarrows that would need to come and save them, few as they were.

The sounds of the fight above them begin to die out, he hears shouting in the distance for only a moment, then all falls eerily quiet.

With a sigh of relief, he sets his mattock down. It sounds as though the goblins have been driven back, and he thinks it might be safe enough to try the door to see if they are well and truly stuck. He pulls away from Kili, even as the lad grabs at his jacket to keep him close.

“I want you to stay right here, lad,” he murmurs softly. “I just want to see if it is safe to come out.” He cannot make out any of the expression on the boy’s face in the darkness of his cellar, but the small hands eventually let go of him. He stands up gingerly, making sure that he doesn’t strike his head on the low ceiling. His fingers run along the ceiling, feeling for the hinge to make sure he pushes in the right place. When he is able to push, he is disappointed to find that there is something blocking the door, and he cannot budge it, even with all of his strength.

With a sigh, he begins to poke at the wood above him with his mattock. He doesn’t know what blocks the door, and he is wary about hacking away at it, since he doesn’t know what might fall in on them. Ultimately, he decides to wait and see if Bombur comes for them, and he’ll break the ceiling down as a last resort if they have to. He plops back down to the floor gracelessly, accidentally kicking over a bucket of tools that makes an alarmingly loud clattering sounds and sends Kili scrambling back to him.

“I’m sorry, laddie,” he mumbles as he tucks the boy in against his side. “It looks like we’re going to wait here for Bombur to come and fetch us.” He feels Kili nod against his side, but the boy still trembles, so he resumes rubbing circles against his back. He wishes he had grabbed a lantern on their way in; it would be easy to distract the boy with woodworking, or playing with some of the toys that were stored in the cellar, but it was far too dark.

\-----

Fili settles on telling them stories to keep them distracted. If it were Kili, and just Kili, he would sing to his brother the songs their family had brought with them from Erebor, but that feels strangely private. Most of the youngsters hang on to his every word, even though he has sure they will have heard all of his stories from Balin already, and for that he is grateful.

The sounds of battle have faded from outside. Fili doesn’t know if his uncle has defeated all of the goblins as he’d promised, or if they were just waiting for another wave to come. He was sick to his stomach with worry for Kili, and sometimes he would find himself distracted and his stories would trail off before the younger dwarrows begged for him to continue.

He thinks of how, a few hours ago, he sat with Kili on his lap and tried to help him read, of how his little brother had grown frustrated with his inability to sound out the words and started to cry, of how he’d shushed the boy and calmed him with praise and reassurance, of how he has always been the one who could calm Kili the best. And now he did not know where his brother was, if he was alone or not, or if he was scared (though he imagined he must be), and he wouldn’t be with him to help calm him down or to reassure him. He wasn’t there, and he’d promised Kili he always would be.

He’d promised, and he’d let his little brother down.

\-----

“Have I ever told you about the time Bombur ate all of the pies our mum made for social?” Bombur asks, perking up a bit when the boy shakes his head no.

He chuckled, happy to find something he could use to distract the lad. He’d grown very still and quiet after the second wave of orcs had come through. 

“She was cross for days. It was back when we lived in Slaton, when our Da worked in the old mines there. Mum had worked for days making all of these pies for the town social, slaved over them, and they were the best pies in all of the Blue Mountains! Bombur and I had been out practicing our fighting with our Da, and when we came home, he just saw all of those pies and started eating!” He poked Kili in the stomach, causing the boy to giggle lightly. “He ate and he ate and he ate. Da and I would have stopped him, but we figured he couldn’t do too much damage while we were washing up, so we left him to it. Came out from the washroom and he’d eaten every last one! Licked the pans clean, too! He’d gotten himself such a bad stomachache that he was still rolling around on the floor when Mum came home from the market. I thought she was going to explode! Made him clean dishes for weeks, she did.” He laughed at the memory. “But of course, you and your brother never get in to such trouble!”

Kili laughed at that. The boys did tend to get into trouble, but it was usually Fili’s doing. The lad had grown a rather mischievous streak as of late and was always playing pranks on others when the mood suited him. Kili would always do what his older brother told him to, since he admired him so much, and more often than not the younger dwarrow was typically blamed for their misadventures, though Fili always came to his rescue in the end.

He smiled to himself, glad he was able to cheer the lad up, at least a little.

After a moment, Kili asked in a very small voice, “Did you know my Mum and Da?”

Damn. He had forgotten that the lad had lost his parents when he was far too small to remember them. Perhaps he hadn’t managed to cheer up the lad at all.

“I did not,” he answered quietly.

“Oh,” was all Kili said in response, sounding completely dejected.

“I think I would have liked to,” he adds as he pats the boy on his shoulder. “I always hear such nice things about them from Balin and Dwalin. But, you, and your brother, and your Uncle Thorin didn’t come to this town until after…” he sighed. “Not yet a year old, you were, just a babe in arms but already the apple of your uncle’s eye.”

He wants to say more to comfort the lad, but all of his thoughts are cut short when he hears another distinctive goblin call from outside. Kili pulls closer to him as he instinctively grabs for his mattock. It sounds like they are just outside, and for a moment he’s terrified of what has happened to the others, to his brother, if the goblins are returning yet again.

The sounds of clashing steel and screamed Khuzdul comfort him greatly, as does the fact that the sounds of battle are farther away than they were before, and he breathes a sigh of relief as he sets his mattock back down.

Kili feels no such relief, if his trembling is any indication of his growing distress, so Bofur gathers him up in his arms and rocks the boy carefully. “Don’t you worry, lad,” he soothes when the boy let’s out a quickly muffled sob. “Any minute now, your uncle is going to burst through those goblins and slash them all to the ground.”

Kili nods, and Bofur tucks the lad’s head under his chin. Silently, he prays to Aule that he’s right.

\-----

“Follow them to their caves!” Thorin’s voice commands. They’ve slain all of the goblin filth in the marketplace, and he is determined to snuff out any others that may be hiding in the caves. A few goblins are retreating, and he takes a blistering pace to keep up with them.

Still, he cannot help but look into and around Bofur’s shop as they pass. The place is an absolute mess and is completely disheveled, and he sees no sign of his nephew or the toymaker. He cannot decide if that makes him glad or anxious. With the memory of the dream so fresh in his mind, he can’t help but worry for his youngest sister-son. A nagging voice in his head told him that it was a premonition, that he was already too late, once again, but he squashes it aside as he chases after the goblins.

They reach the cave quickly, and, much to Thorin’s delight, are able to corner the last of the retreating goblins. It was evident that they had used this cave often, it was full of supplies and goblin paraphernalia, but there were no other goblins found in the shallow cave. He took great delight in slaughtering the last few and donning their heads on pikes at the mouth of the cave, a warning to the others to never return to that place, lest they want to invite the wrath of the dwarrows.

He chances a look at the dwarrows that have followed him into battle. Most are completely uninjured, and those who were had only minor scrapes and bruises, but they were all covered in blood, making them look foreboding and menacing. It had been a long time since he had seen any sort of battle, even against the goblins, and he is pleased to see that he, nor his companions, has lost any of their fighting spirit.

“Come on then,” Balin says a moment later. “We should check the marketplace for survivors and burn the filth before it soils the streets.”

Thorin nods and sets off toward town, Dwalin immediately falling into step behind him. “I did not see him anywhere,” the burly warrior supplies, sounding hopeful. “Nor Bofur. I would bet he found them safety.”

“We can only hope,” he replies, voice tight. “You saw how much damage was done to the shop. We cannot know anything for certain.”

His friend eyes him curiously. “You are not often so pessimistic, Thorin.”

He winces. He’s not, especially not when it comes to his sister-sons, and Dwalin knows him well enough to see that something in him has changed. “I had a dream last night, that I was too late to save him,” he explains quickly, not bothering with the details. “It makes me anxious.”

Dwalin picked up his pace, and he immediately followed suit. “Not that I am superstitious,” he throws over his shoulder before he breaks into a full out run.

Thorin is unsure if their companions are running behind him or not, but he can’t seem to care. In no time at all they are back in the marketplace and sifting through the rubble of Bofur’s shop, looking for any sign of the pair. He grows more and more frustrated with each place they check, with each place they look and find nothing.

Bombur arrives sometime while they are searching and asks, “Have you checked the cellar?”

“What cellar?” Dwalin snaps, and there is a sudden pounding from underneath him feet.

“Kili?” Thorin calls out, and he hears his nephew’s muffled reply. Mentally he berates himself for being so stupid as to not call out for his nephew in the first place.

Bombur rushes to the back of the store and finds the hinge for the cellar, and realizes their predicament quickly. “That case, it needs to be moved,” he shouts, pointing at the offending bookcase. “They’re trapped,” he explains, but Dwalin and Thorin are already hefting the case out of the way before he gets the words out.

Once the door is finally clear, Bombur pries it open, revealing a rather relieved looking Bofur clutching the young dwarf to his chest. Thorin’s hands are reaching out desperately, before he can stop himself and get a hold of his emotions. He is supposed to be a leader, supposed to be their King; he cannot let them see how much he is truly shaken.

“Uncle!” Kili cries, and he grabs him, pulls him close to his chest and hugs him tight. He is not too late, not this time. The lad is dirty and shaken and scared and crying, but he is alive and well, and that’s all he can ask for. Thorin grips him as close as he dares, one hand tangled in the boys disheveled hair, the other arm wrapped firmly around the lad.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he confesses into the boy’s hair, not noticing how the others have vacated the ruined shop to give them some privacy.

\-----

The door flies open with a bang, and Fili is on his feet, sword drawn and ready to protect the dwarflings behind him.

He breathes a raged sigh of relief when he sees that it is just Bombur, who smiles apologetically at him. “Come on then, lads!” He calls. “We’ll get you something to eat and have you back with your Mums and Das in no time!”

The dwarflings all cheer excitedly and burst from the room before Fili can even sheath his sword. He follows them out, feeling deeply relieved. Bofur claps him on the shoulder once he enters the kitchen and gives him a lopsided grin.

“Had to give your brother and your uncle a moment,” he explains, “but they’re coming right behind us.”

“Were you with him? Kili?” he asks.

“Aye, laddie, I was.” The older dwarrow frowned slightly, then leaned down to be at eye level with the lad. “Now I’ll be honest with you, since I’m a big brother too,” he murmurs, and Fili suddenly feels rather anxious. “He’s a right bit scared, Fili. Saw some terrible things before I could get him away. You’re gonna need to be strong for him, do you understand?”

Fili nodded, and Bofur patted him on the shoulder the shoulder again.

“Lucky lad he is to have you and your uncle to watch over him,” the toymaker admits, before heading back toward the pantry to grab something to snack on.

Fili feels restless and frustrated standing inside the house and watching as dwarrows come to collect their children. He needs to see his brother and his uncle, and he needs to see them now, so he waits until Balin isn’t looking and slips out the front door to find them.

He runs smack into Dwalin’s solid body before falling down on his behind.

The warrior scoffs at him. “You shouldn’t be out here laddie,” he comments as he helps the boy up. “Your uncle wouldn’t want you to see such things.”

Fili resists the urge to scream at him. “I need to find Kili!” he shouts, frustration gnawing at him. “I need to see them, Mister Dwalin!” He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes but he quickly blinks them away.

Dwalin’s stern features shift into something softer, with a whisper of a frown, before he glances back over his shoulder. “They’re coming lad,” he murmurs, quickly catching Fili when he tries to run around him to see.

“I already saw the bodies!” he complains when Dwalin pulls him back.

“That’s not reason enough for you to see them again,” he counters before pulling the door open and shoving Fili back inside. The golden haired youth firmly kicks the door when it slams shut behind him, and Balin can’t help but notice and laugh at the lad’s frustration.

“It’s not funny!” he all but wails, but he walks over to Balin immediately when the dwarf beckons him.

“It’s not, laddie,” he affirms. “This is a hard lesson to learn.”

Fili frowns at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re protective over your brother, aren’t you?” he asks, and Fili nods. “And I’ll bet you’ve promised to keep him from harm for all of his days?” he continues, and Fili nods again. “Well the biggest problem, laddie, is that you can’t.”

“Yes I can!” he immediately protests, and Balin shakes his head.

“You want to,” he explains, “and you’ll do your very best to. You’ll protect him from everything you possibly can, whenever you can, but that won’t be everything.”

Fili looks at him, completely distraught.

“Think about this, laddie,” he murmurs. “Dwalin is my little brother, yes?”

Fili nods.

“When he was a lad I was much like you. I sought to protect him from everything. Bad dreams, fights with our Da, orcs and goblins – everything. But when he turned ten, when he started his weapons training, all of the sudden he didn’t need me to protect him all the time anymore. He was able to protect himself, and in time, he was often the one to protect me.” Fili’s eyes widened. “And that’s what happens eventually, with brothers. Dwalin protects me just as much as I do him. The same for Bofur and Bombur, and for your uncles Thorin and Frerin, and one day for you and Kili as well.”

Fili shook his head. “But Kili’s so little, he’s so young,” he starts to argue, but Balin just shakes his head.

“He won’t be forever, laddie. Dwalin was once little and young too,” he murmurs with a light chuckle, clapping a hand on Fili’s shoulder in reassurance. “When he’s grown, when you are both grown, you’ll have to protect one another. And there will be things that you can’t protect him from, no matter how much you want to, and the same will be true for him.”

Fili nodded, realization dawning on him. Balin was right, he always was. “Thank you, Mister Balin,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

Balin fixed him with a warm smile. “It’s quite alright, Fili! It’s been a rather trying day for all of us, I’m afraid.”

Fili nodded in agreement and finally settled down in a chair to wait. Balin gave him a reassuring smile as he did, then went outside to join his own brother, who was presumably working to move the bodies from the street. He was just starting to fidget when the door creaked open and his uncle swept into the room, Kili tucked under one arm with his face buried against Thorin’s neck.

“Come, Fili,” he beckoned with his free hand. Fili was on his feet in an instant and rushed to his uncle’s side, where Thorin surprised him by gathering him up in an embrace and balancing him carefully on his other hip.

He knew he should be affronted, that he was too big for such coddling, but he was so relieved at seeing his family reunited that he couldn’t be bothered to care. He slung one arm around his uncle’s neck and squeezed Kili’s shoulder with the other. His little brother looked up at him with wide, scared eyes, and Fili had to stifle the guilt that he felt welling up in his chest. It was as Mister Balin had said; he could not protect Kili from everything, no matter how much he wished he could.

“It’s alright now, Kee,” he murmured. “Uncle and I will always protect you.”

Kili gave him a small smile in return before pressing his face back against Thorin’s neck.

“Eyes closed, lads,” Thorin murmured as he maneuvered them back through the still open door. Without meaning to, Fili found himself reacting just as his brother had, and pressed closer to his uncle with his eyes tightly closed.

\-----

It was a strange night in their home following the attack.

Kili was incredibly quiet, something that only happened when the lad was sleepy or ill, and it concerned Thorin greatly. He’d gotten them all in a steaming bath as soon as they’d arrive home and scrubbed them all clean. They had made a simple broth for supper, but Thorin and Fili had barely eaten, and Kili hadn’t touched his at all.

At nightfall, Balin and Dwalin came by to check on them, informing them all that the dwarrows had set up a watch schedule to keep a look out for more goblins that might try to come through the town. Thorin had volunteered to help, but Kili and Fili both had looked at him with such panicked expressions that Dwalin refused him, saying that they had more than enough able-bodied dwarrows to handle it.

They spent the majority of the evening in the living room, cooped up around the fire. Thorin was reading some of the correspondences he had gotten from their kin in the Iron Hills, a frown firmly set on his face most of the time. For a while, Fili had tried to help Kili with his reading, but Kili was being so still and quiet that he eventually gave up and asked his brother if he could use his hair for braiding practice.

He worked first on his small braids, and was dismayed when they all came out lumpy and uneven.

“I just don’t understand how you’re so good at this,” he muttered as he pulled the braids loose. Kili looked up at him with a small smile, a glimmer of pride glinting in his eyes. “You should show me.”

Kili smiled a bit brighter. “Uncle, can I braid your hair?” he asked quietly, voice cracking a bit with disuse. Those were the first words Fili had heard his brother speak all evening, and his heart swelled at the fact that he’d been the one to coax them out of him.

Thorin set the scroll he was reading aside with a small smile, pulling the beads free from his own braids and shaking them out as he came to sit on the floor with his nephews. Kili crawled straight into his lap, but Fili kept a respectful distance and sat off to the side, where he could still see what his brother was doing.

Kili carefully combed through his uncle’s hair with his fingers, and Fili did the same, muttering a small apology whenever his fingers caught on a tangle.

“Like this,” Kili said quietly as he pulled the appropriate section from behind Thorin’s ear. Fili pulled the same section from the opposite side, and watched as Kili separated it into three equal portions before smoothing them all out. It took Fili a moment to do the same, but he eventually was able to. Kili started to braid then, slowly and carefully so that his brother could see. Fili followed all of his motions as exactly as he could. He frowned when they’d finished and compared the two. Kili’s, as always, was straight and even and sleek, and Fili’s, as always, was a lumpy looking mess.

Fili groaned, and Thorin ran a hand down each of the braids, chuckling lightly when he realized the difference. “You’ll have to keep practicing, Fili,” he murmured, a smile firmly on his face.

“You fix it,” he grumbled, not even bothering to tie of his braid with a bead as he combed the hair back out.

Kili was happy to oblige. He loved being allowed to braid his uncle or his brother’s hair; it was something that he was good at, and he always felt so warm and so close to them when he was allowed to. He quickly crafted a matching braid to the one he had already done and tied it off for his uncle. He was rewarded with a kiss to the forehead form Thorin and Fili demanding his turn next.

Thorin smiled as Kili turned himself in his lap and began working on his brother’s hair. He doubted that sleep would come easily to any of them tonight, but it warmed his heart greatly to see Kili in high spirits. Seeing such violence so early in life had been known to change young dwarrows for the worse, to make them more fearful and take away their childhood joy. He would hate to see that lost in Kili. He had seen it lost in Frerin, in Dis, watched as joy was replaced with grief and fear.

He was not naïve enough to think that a part of Kili’s innocence wasn’t lost forever; no, he’d seen the darkness in the lad’s eyes when he’d pulled him from Bofur’s arms in the cellar, but he held on to hope that the joyous, loving part of his youngest sister-son would remain intact.

As he turned back to his scrolls, he vowed for the hundredth time that day to make sure he never saw the brightness in Kili’s eyes go out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Please review!


	5. Fifteen and Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Hooray! A new chapter! I hate this chapter; I don’t really know why. I wrote about four different versions of it, and I hated all of them, and then I had writers block and procrastinated by writing porn instead (oops). Anyway, I’m not completely thrilled with this chapter, but here it is! I hope you all enjoy, and I’m sorry for the wait!
> 
> PS: I would still love a beta if you’d like to volunteer as tribute.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit.tumblr.com.  
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Sick babies, weirdly angsty writing, probably very bad writing.

Fili woke before dawn, as he usually did, despite the fact that he had no training sessions with Dwalin and no study sessions with Balin. Usually, on days like this, he would curl up with his brother a drop back to sleep, but today was different. Today was Kili’s birthday.

Kili’s tenth birthday.

He was probably as excited as his brother was. Kili had wanted his own practice sword as soon as Fili had gotten his five and a half years earlier, had wanted to start his weapons training as soon as his brother had, and today was finally the day. Granted, Kili was still a bit on the small side, and there was no way he’d even be able to put up a fair fight against his brother for years, but he still couldn’t deny how uncontrollably excited he was that they would be able to train together.

As quietly as he could, Fili slipped out of the bed, wincing as his feet hit the cold stone of the floor. They had moved away from the small village they had lived in after the goblin attack just over a year before. Dwalin and Balin had accompanied them, as they always had, and Bofur and Bombur had come too. They had moved into a rather large dwarrow settlement farther up in the mountains, one where Bombur and Bofur’s cousin, Bifur, lived, as well as a few of Thorin’s own distant relations. It was the first time that Fili and Kili had ever been so surrounded by their kin, and, for a while, it had been quite overwhelming.

The settlement was founded shortly after the fall of Erebor, and the dwarrows had carved a large, open-air marketplace from a massive cave that had existed on the mountain. Their homes were carved directly into the sides of the cave, sheltered from wind and weather, and safely nestled deep into the core of the mountain, overlooking the rather large town of men that was not more than a half-day’s walk away.

They had built an impressive mine, one that harvested gold, silver, and other precious metals from the earth, one that was kept in constant business by the dwarrows and the men who lived below. Thorin and Dwalin had purchased a dilapidated forge once they’d moved into their new home, and with a great deal of work, they’d gotten it up and running. Business was in a constant supply, with plenty of materials provided by the mines and plenty of customers between the dwarrows and the men. It had meant that Thorin spent more time working in the forge and less time at home with his nephews, but they no longer had to worry about being able to pay for their necessities.

Many of the dwarrows in the settlement had fled Erebor with Thorin, over a hundred years ago, and some of them still regarded him as their King and leader, despite their exile and Thorin’s nomadic tendencies. It had been strange to Fili and Kili at first, to see people treat their uncle with such respect, when they were so used to seeing men who so obviously looked down on him, and all of their kind, for so many years. They often came asking him for advice, or to help with matters of the settlement, to make decisions for them, and Thorin spent an ever-increasing amount of time tending to his subjects that had not forgotten him.

It had meant that Thorin spent less and less time with them. In truth, Fili hadn’t seen their uncle at home in nearly three days; the forge had received a lot of orders in preparation for what promised to be a long winter, and the dwarrows had wanted to organize a better town patrol, and Thorin had been largely busy tending to those matters. He had dropped in on Fili’s training the day before, and Kili had said that he’d read him to sleep the night before that, but it was still a large adjustment for the lads who were so used to having their uncle at home so much of the time. Fili’d had to take responsibility for himself and his little brother; though Dwalin or Balin usually made sure they were all right and well fed when Thorin found himself working late.

Fili crept into the kitchen, lighting a few candles as he went to illuminate their otherwise darkened home. He shivered as he got closer to the front rooms; it had been bitterly cold for the past few days, and while the chill did not often reach their rooms in the back of the cavern, it certainly penetrated into the kitchen and the front room like an unwanted visitor. He set about stoking the kitchen fire back to life, intending to make tea for his brother and uncle once they awoke.

He jumped, nearly throwing the kettle of water he had just drawn onto the revived fire, when the front door slammed open, followed by a rush of cold air and some swearing from his uncle. Smiling widely, he rushed out to greet him, and was delighted to see the blanket of fresh white snow through the door before Thorin slammed it shut.

“It snowed!” he whisper-shouted excitedly, just barely resisting the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet. Kili loved the snow, especially when he was able to torture their uncle or Mister Dwalin by pelting them with snow balls relentlessly.

Thorin whirled around to look at him, seemingly started to see him awake, before his face melted into a warm smile. “That it did, lad,” he confirmed. “Quite a bit, in fact. There’s at least a foot in the marketplace.”

Fili didn’t waste a second to launch himself at his uncle, jumping so that his arms could wrap around the taller dwarf’s next and squeeze him tight. “Missed you, Uncle,” he murmured into the thick curtain of hair, smiling delightedly when Thorin’s arms wrapped around him in return.

“I am sorry,” Thorin murmured as he set him back on the ground and busied himself with taking off his coats. “I had not intended to spend so much time away from home.”

Fili waved him off. “It’s alright! I understand, Uncle, and Kili does, too.”

Thorin chuckled lightly and reached down to ruffle Fili’s hair. “And what have I done to deserve such patient sister-sons?” he mused before hanging his coat on the wall. “You’re up early,” he observed, and Fili just smiled.

“I’m too excited to sleep,” he explained, following his uncle back to the kitchen, pleased to see that the water had warmed enough to make tea. “It took me forever to get Kili to sleep! But then I got to thinking about how much fun it would be to start training with him, and I could hardly sleep either.”

His uncle laughed aloud at that. “I can only imagine. I was much the same way when your Uncle Frerin starting his training.”

“Did Uncle Frerin ever beat you in sparring?” Fili asked excitedly. He loved to hear about his other uncle, but he knew better than to ever bring him up. He knew that Frerin had died, young, in a battle alongside Thorin, but no one ever spoke of him outside of that. Sometimes, Thorin would speak of him, and Fili always wanted to know more, but he was careful not to push his luck too far and make his uncle turn the conversation to something else.

Thorin smiled fondly. “Not for a long while, when he was in his forties. And even then he only bested me because I had a cold.”

Fili laughed. “Do you think Kili will be able to beat me before he’s that age?” he asked as he pulled a tin down from the cabinet, one that contained a wide variety of flavored pastries that Balin had sent home with him after his lessons the day before, explaining to Fili that he’d wanted to have something special for breakfast for the ‘birthday lad’. He finished preparing the teas, offering one to his uncle and adding a bit more honey to the one intended for his brother.

His uncle took the tea with a grateful smile. “That’s the problem with your little brother,” he mused, a smirk pulling at his lips. “He’s always full of surprises.”

Fili nodded in agreement. “Oh!” he mumbled excitedly. “Can I see his sword?”

“Of course, of course,” Thorin replied, striding over to the pantry cabinet and pulling something off of the top of it. It was one of his favorite hiding places for things that he wanted to keep from the lads. Fili was tall enough to reach it (with the assistance of a chair), but respectful enough of his uncle’s rules to leave it well enough alone. Kili was still awfully short, barely reaching his uncle’s waist, and couldn’t even come close to reaching the top, even with the aid of chairs and other furniture (though it wasn’t for a lack of trying). He pulled the wooden sword from the cloth it was wrapped in, and handed it to Fili for his approval.

“Did you make it?” he asked excitedly as he appraised the sword in his hands. “You made mine, didn’t you?”

Thorin nodded. “It is tradition for your first weapons to be made by a family member, wooden or not. Many people may have abandoned the old ways of Erebor, but I still like to keep with tradition for my own kin.”

“That way, when we take Erebor back, we’ll know all of the proper traditions and be able to teach them to the other dwarrows!” Fili agreed, smiling widely.

A strange look passed over Thorin’s face, one that was a mixture of wistfulness and pride and sadness, before he clapped Fili warmly on his shoulder.

“It’s a bit smaller than mine,” he observed, running his fingers along the blunted edges, “but I think it’s about the same size as Ori’s, isn’t it?”

“It should be close,” Thorin agreed. “I’d imagine that Ori wasn’t very tall in his tenth year either.”

Ori was one of the dwarrow children that also lived in the settlement, along with his much older brothers Nori and Dori. Ori was fourteen, just a year younger than Fili, and was in most of Fili’s lessons with Balin. Because he was tall and quite strong, despite his youth, Fili usually had his weapons training with the older dwarrow children, though he’d heard a lot of teasing comments regarding Ori’s lack of skill in Dwalin’s training sessions. Like his brother, Ori was a late bloomer, slight and lean and a bit on the short side, for a dwarf.

Fili bit his lip as a thought suddenly occurred to him. “Do you think they’ll tease Kili too?” he asked, protectiveness for his brother shining through.

Thorin gave him a small smile. “I should think not. You and your brother are of the line of Durin, you’re born fighters and warriors; it’s in your blood.” He chuckled softly.

“And he wants to be like you, so he’ll try his very best,” Fili murmured in agreement as he handed the sword back to his uncle. “I should go and wake him.”

“I’ll rouse him,” Thorin murmured as he wrapped the sword back in its piece of cloth and set it on the table. “You should enjoy your breakfast. I’m sure you’ll need all your strength to keep up with your brother today.” Fili laughed lightly as he nodded in agreement.

Thorin slipped back to his nephews’ bedroom as quietly as he could manage. Kili was a light sleeper, and he often woke up several times during the time, unable to fall back asleep until he was curled securely against his brother or uncle’s side, or until one of the two of them had read or sung him back to sleep. Even as a babe, Kili’d had trouble sleeping, and it had gotten much worse after the goblin attack. He was prone to letting Kili sleep late into the day when he could manage it, but he was sure the lad would mind being woken early this day.

He knelt by the side of the bed before reaching a hand out to card through the lad’s hair softly. “Good morning, little Kili,” he murmured as bleary brown eyes looked up at him. He’d expected his youngest sister-son to barrel into him with a fierce hug, as the lad was wont to do, but instead Kili just whimpered softly and buried himself back into his furs.

Thorin frowned. Kili was usually easy to wake, and he had thought his nephew would be a bit more excited to see him after his absence for the past few days. To be honest, it hurt a little that Kili had not immediately climbed into his arms; Thorin loved the lad’s displays of affection as much as he pretended to be annoyed by them.

He swept a hand across the boy’s forehead, frown deepening as he felt the heat there. “Fili!” he called, even as he jostled Kili to try and stir him into wakefulness.

The blond youth poked his head through the doorway, confusion marring his face for a moment. “What is it, Uncle?” he asked, voice hitching with the tiniest bit with concern when he noticed his still slumbering brother.

“Did Kili have a fever when you woke?” he asked, careful to keep any accusations out of his voice. He didn’t want Fili getting the wrong impression, didn’t want the boy to think that he had failed in taking care of his brother.

Fili frowned and stepped further into the room. “I didn’t notice,” he murmured. “I was trying to let him sleep, so I left him alone.” He watched as his uncle pushed up the fabric of his brother’s sleeping clothes, gasping softly at the small red bumps that had popped up on his Kili’s skin. “What is that?” he asked, a slight edge of panic in his voice.

Thorin gathered Kili up into his arms, and Fili visibly fretted at the pitiful whine that escaped from his brother’s lips. “I think he may have the pox,” Thorin murmured softly as he tucked the lad up against his chest, shushing him softly when he whined again. “What did he eat last night?”

Fili bit his lip, remembering. “He didn’t eat anything, actually. Mister Dwalin brought some salted pork and ate with us but Kili said he was too excited for food.” Fili frowned. “What’s the pox, Uncle? Is he going to be alright?”

“It is a sickness common to dwarrow children, though he is a bit old to have it,” Thorin explained, extending an arm to wrap around Fili and pull him close to his side. “Most dwarrows get it when they are very small. I had it when I was six, gave it to Frerin before he could even walk.” Fili nodded to show he was listening, but his arms reached out to comfort his brother. “You had it when you were three; I was not around, but your mother wrote to me about it.”

Kili coughed violently into his uncle’s chest, and Thorin bent down to press a kiss against the crown of the lad’s head.

“Are we going to get sick too?” Fili asked, voice tinged with worry.

Thorin offered him a warm smile. “No, lad. You can only get the pox once. Kili must have picked it up from one of the other children; it’s been a long time since we lived with our own kin.”

He nodded, a deep frown falling onto his features. “Will he be alright?” he asked again.

“Aye, he will, with a little medicine from dear old Mister Oin,” Thorin confirmed. “Though I should expect he’ll be a bit miserable for a few days, at least. Pox usually makes you quite ill to your stomach and gives you a nasty cough.”

“But it’s his birthday!” Fili bemoaned. “We’re supposed to go training and eat sweets and attack Mister Dwalin with snowballs today!”

Thorin sighed lightly as he rose to his feet, keeping Kili close. “And the two of you shall do all of those things, and a great deal other sorts of mischief, I imagine, but not until your brother is well again.” Fili frowned. “I daresay you are more disappointed than he would be.”

“I’m not!” Fili protested, before his cheeks colored slightly in embarrassment. “I just…I just wanted him to have a birthday that’s as special as all of mine have been. It always snows on his, so people can’t visit, and none of his favorite foods are anywhere to be found this time of year, and I just wanted…but now it’s all ruined” He sighed, heavily.

Thorin knelt down to be eye level with him and clapped his free hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Sweet Fili,” he murmured. “He will indeed have a special day; I know you will see to that. It will just have to be a little late this year, is all.”

Fili still frowned, but nodded anyway.

“But now,” Thorin murmured as he stood up straight again. “I’ll need you to run and fetch Mister Oin for me.” Fili nodded and trudged off to the front rooms. “And make sure you’re bundled up properly, Fili! It is quite cold out.”

Fili did as he was told, donned both of his coats and his thick winter boots before heading out of their home. He was comforting by the fact that his uncle did not seem overly concerned with Kili’s condition, but he was still so upset that Kili had to fall ill on his birthday of all days. He wrapped his arms around himself as he headed out into the cold; the chilled air bit at his lungs, and he shivered involuntarily. Their uncle probably wouldn’t have let them come out to play in such cold weather anyway.

Oin and his younger brother Gloin were distant cousins of their uncle. Gloin was a proud warrior, much like Dwalin, and often assisted in the weapons training for the dwarflings. Oin was a physician, the best in all their little settlement, one that Thorin trusted enough with the care of his nephew’s. They lived in a house on the far side of the marketplace, with Gloin’s new bride Aerona, and Fili hastened his steps to get there faster.

He only encountered a few other dwarrows on his trek; it was too early for most to be awake, and the ones that were seemed to favor staying inside to avoid the chill. He eventually broke into a brisk jog, eager to get out of the cold and reach his destination. He winced slightly as he knocked on their door, hoping that he wasn’t intruding on anything or rousing them too early. He hated to be impolite.

The door opened not a moment later, revealing Aerona’s smiling face. “Fili, dear! What brings you here so early in the morning?” She ushered him inside her home, and settled him down in a large armchair near the fire, murmuring something about not wanting him to catch cold.

“Kili’s sick,” he explained, frowning as he did so. “Uncle thinks he has the pox, and he wanted me to come and fetch Mister Oin, ma’am.”

She frowned softly. “Poor little dear,” she murmured. “It’s not any fun to have the pox. I’ll go and get him, lad. I imagine he’s still sleeping, but he won’t mind coming to check on your brother.”

Fili nodded his thanks, and she disappeared down the hallway to the back of their home. He occupied himself with taking in the appearance of their home – there were a lot more decorations and embroideries in their sitting rom, and Fili found himself suddenly envious. His mum used to make quilts and tapestries, though he hadn’t seen any of them for years, and he suddenly wondered where they had got off to. The only quilt he could think of was the one that was on the bed he shared with his brother, the one she had made for him when he was just a babe. It was hardly big enough to cover him, now, but he still took comfort in holding on to some small piece of his mother.

He missed them, his mum and da, more than he would ever admit to anyone, even Kili. Sometimes he feels guilty, because even though his uncle gave up a lot to take the place of his parents and was raising him as if he were his own, he knew he would never really love Thorin as much as he loved his mum and da. There would always be a hole in his heart; one that Thorin just didn’t quite fit in to, though his uncle tried his best to father him. Sometimes he wants to love Thorin like he is his father, but it feels like he betrays his father’s memory in doing so, and just the thought of letting someone else replace his da in his heart makes him feel full of guilt.

“He’ll be round in just a minute, dear,” Aerona announced as she came back into the front room, startling Fili from his thoughts. “I’ll fetch you so tea; you look like you could use something warm.”

“Thank you,” he murmured quietly, eyes focusing back on the fire.

He envied Kili, sometimes. He never knew their parents, all he’d ever known was Thorin, and he loved their uncle with his whole heart, unconditionally. He loved Thorin as though he truly were his father; it was Thorin who had taught him his first word (Feewee!), it was Thorin who had taught him to walk (though Fili had helped), it was Thorin who had taught him to read and write (then Balin when he had to fix his brother’s mediocre skills). It was Thorin who kissed his scrapes better and Thorin who tended to his hair and Thorin who sang him to sleep. He didn’t have to remember his mum and da doing the same things, he didn’t have to feel that twisting in his chest when he thought too hard on them, he didn’t have to miss them, not like Fili did.

He frowned and shook his head to clear those thoughts. He knew Kili missed them dearly, ever since he had learned they were there to miss. He could recall more than one occasion on which he’d held his crying brother, murmuring words of love and encouragement when he’d whispered, “Do you think Mum would have liked me?” or “It isn’t my fault that they’re gone, is it?” He couldn’t imagine the pain his brother probably felt, missing people that he hadn’t ever known.

Still, he envied the love his brother had for their uncle. It was easy to him, natural, to treat Thorin like his father. And Fili knew that Thorin loved him as though he were his own son, though he never spoke about it. For a while, Fili had wondered if his uncle simply loved Kili more that him; he always coddled him, gave him little treats for no apparent reason, snuggled him and kissed him more than he ever had Fili.

Eventually he realized that it wasn’t that Thorin loved his brother more, it was that he loved Kili like he were his own son. His uncle had raised the lad straight from his birth, taught him everything he needed to learn. Their bond was different than the one he shared with his uncle. Kili was like his son, and Fili was still his nephew, but both were loved with equal intensity from their elder. In fact, sometimes Kili pouted that their uncle loved him the most, when Thorin spent a large amount of time with him training him to be his heir.

He was drawn from his thoughts as Aerona pressed a warm mug into his hands.

“A bit young to be so thoughtful, hmm?” she asked as she squatted down in front of him. “I wouldn’t worry about your brother, dear. All dwarrows get the pox at one time or another, and we’re all sad and miserable and grumpy for a few days, but it will pass.”

Fili managed a small smile. “I know,” he murmured. “I just can’t help it sometimes,” he admitted.

“You know,” she said softly. “I have two little brothers myself. Right young hellions they were once, though I shouldn’t say the same for your brother. Always sweet and charming, that one.”

Fili laughed. Kili did tend to make that impression on people. He was still young and rather shy around people outside of their little family, and he usually stayed latched to Thorin or Fili (or sometimes Dwalin, which always made him snicker with amusement at his tiny brother attached to the hulking warrior), only speaking when spoken to and always being as polite as Fili was.

“He just doesn’t know you well enough to cause any mischief,” Fili mumbled, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I should expect not,” she agreed, a smile tugging at her lips again.

At that moment, Oin rounded the corner into the sitting room, already dressed in his coat and carrying a rather large bag, eyeing Fili tiredly. “I hear we’ve got a spot of the pox, perhaps?” he asked, and Fili nodded as he stood, handing his mug back to Aerona and fixing her with a grateful smile.

“You’ll have to tell me about your brothers some other time,” he murmured apologetically, but she just waved him off.

“Well come on then, lad,” Oin said a bit gruffly, clearly disgruntled at being woken earlier than he intended. “Let’s get your brother taken care of so I can get back to sleep!”

“Yes, sir,” Fili agreed as he pulled the door open for the older man, who nodded in thanks. “I’m sorry we had to come and get you so early.”

“It’s not a bother, lad,” Oin replied, wincing at the cold wind as it hit him when they stepped outside. “Just had to be up late with Missus Cora’s babe; this cold weather doesn’t agree much with him.”

Fili scoffed. “I shouldn’t expect this agrees much with anyone, really.”

Oin laughed heartily. “Quite right, laddie,” he agreed as they walked swiftly across the marketplace. “When did your brother start feeling ill?” he asked, shifting into his physician’s mode easily.

“Uncle noticed his fever just before I came to fetch you,” he explained. “He has spots all on his belly, so he thought it might be pox. He didn’t eat anything for dinner last night, but he didn’t say that he felt ill; he just said he was excited for his birthday.”

Oin tutted quietly under his breath. “Has he been sick at all?”

Fili shook his head. “He hasn’t.” Oin frowned at that, and he felt a tiny bit of panic well up inside of him. “What’s wrong?”

The physician quickly covered his frown with a smile and patted Fili’s shoulder comfortingly. “Nothing, my boy, I assure you! Normally you’re sick first, then the fever, then the spots, is all.”

“I mean, he could have been sick and just not told me,” Fili reasoned before shaking his head. “But even if I was asleep he would have woke me or Uncle. He’s terribly clingy when he’s sick.”

Oin barked out a laugh. “Terribly clingy when he’s not, that one. Never seen a dwarf as affectionate as he is.” Fili had to laugh in agreement.

They finally arrived back home, only to find Thorin seated on the floor in the middle of their sitting room, with a shaking and sobbing Kili retching into a pot on his lap. Thorin looks immensely relieved to see his distant cousin walk into their home, and for a split second Fili wondered if his uncle was really more worried than he had let on.

“So I see that has started then, hmm?” he asked as he removed his coat and crouched next to Thorin, who merely nodded as he pushed Kili’s sweaty fringe from his forehead when the lad collapsed back against his chest.

Fili hovered back, watching the three with interest. He was unnerved at seeing his uncle unsettled; it was so rare that Thorin showed any emotions aside from his affection for them, and he did not like the worried look in Thorin’s gaze one bit.

“Good morning, Kili!” Oin greeted cheerfully as he settled himself on the floor. “And a most happy birthday to you, lad. I am sorry you’re sick,” he murmured as he swept a hand across Kili’s forehead, feeling how high the fever had gotten. “Do you mind if I take a look at your spots?”

Kili frowned, but shook his head anyway, allowing Oin to do his work. Fili was struck by how pale and tired his brother looked; it had been a long time since either of them had been ill, and he couldn’t remember his brother ever looking so miserable before. He frowned when Oin lifted his brother’s shirt, and saw how large and red the bumps had become.

“Do they itch?” he asked aloud, and Kili seemed to finally focus on him, to notice him for the first time.

His younger brother reached out a hand toward him as he shook his head. “Fee,” he whined, truly one of the most pitiful sounds he had ever heard, and Fili found himself settled down next to his uncle, his brother’s hand firmly grasped in his.

“They might start to itch,” Oin warned, “but you mustn’t scratch! If you do, they could get infected, and then you’ll have nasty pox scars and even nastier medicine to take.” Kili nodded, but Oin fixed Thorin with a stern gaze. “You wrap his hands to keep him from itching, if you have to,” he ordered, and Thorin simply nodded.

Kili whimpered and lunged forward to retch into the pot again, sobbing when he heaved and nothing came out. Fili placed a comforting hand on his brother’s back and rubbed in small circles as the boy dry-heaved for several long moments.

“Definitely a touch of the pox,” Oin concluded once he’d finished his examination, giving the family what he hoped was a reassuring nod. “I’ll mix you up some tea that will help him sleep and some ointment you can use on the spots if they itch. He should be back to normal in a few days; a week at most, I should think.” He rose and took his bag with him into the kitchen to mix up the medicines.

Kili turned and curled up against his uncle’s chest, groaning as he did so. “Hurts,” he mumbled.

Thorin pushed the hair back from his face again. “I know it does, little one,” he soothed. “But it will only last a couple of days.” He pressed a kiss against the lad’s fevered temple.

“Does this mean I don’t get to train?” he mumbled as his eyes drooped shut. “Mister Dwalin said…he said we had to start on our tenth if we wanted to be warriors but I don’t think I can.”

Thorin glanced over at Fili and let his eyes flicker to the table where Kili’s sword still lay. In an instant, Fili was on his feet to retrieve the gift.

“Of course you’ll get to train,” he murmured. “It’s too bloody cold for Mister Dwalin to leave his house and train with you anyhow. I’ll bet he’s cooped up in front of his own fire wrapped in all his furs,” he added with a chuckle. “When you are well again I’ll start your training myself; does that sound fair?”

“And you’ll learn how to use this!” Fili exclaimed happily as he sat back down, thrusting the practice sword into his brother’s hands.

Kili perked up a bit at the sight of his own sword, small hand grasping at the hilt as he testing its weight in his hands as he held it out in front of himself experimentally. He was already feeling the strain of his illness, and his hands shook with exhaustion even with the sword’s slight weight. Thorin reached around him and gently grasped his wrist to keep them stable.

“It’s prefect,” he breathed as he turned back to face his uncle to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, uncle,” he murmured before dissolving into a coughing fit and slumping back against Thorin’s chest. His elder shushed him softly, rubbing his back comfortingly.

Fili gently pulled the practice sword from his hands and set it on the nearby armchair, watching the pair with a pensive look on his face. He couldn’t quite decipher the look in Thorin’s eyes, and it made him a bit concerned that his uncle seemed unwilling to let Kili out of his arms.

“All right, laddie,” Oin called as he came back into the room, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. “It’s off to bed with you.” He handed the mug to Kili, and the boy took an experimental sip before grimacing.

“S’nasty,” he mumbled, but obediently took another sip after a stern look from the physician. It took him a few moments to finish the medicine, and when he did Oin patted him on the head before collecting his mug and the pot he had been sick in, disappearing to the kitchen once more.

Kili coughed again, weakly, and for a moment he looked so green that Fili rushed into the kitchen to grab another pot should he be sick again, but it passed and he was soon sound asleep, slumped against his uncle with his thumb lodged firmly in his mouth. Once he was sure his brother was asleep, Fili tugged on his arm to pull the digit free; he was getting to be too old for such a habit.

Oin returned from the kitchen and handed Thorin a small jar. “This is the ointment, should you need it. It will help with the itching and fight any infections he might wind up with from scratching. I’ve left a few satchels of tea to help him sleep on your table. Give hime one dose in the morning and one in the evening, no more.” Thorin nodded his consent. “Should he get worse, you should call on me again, but I would expect him to be well in a few days time.”

“Thank you, Oin,” Thorin said, extending a hand for his distant cousin to shake. “I am in your debt.”

The older dwarf waved his hand, indicating that no thanks were necessary. “Anything for my king and his boy,” he said, giving them a soft smile. “Though I should like to return to my bed, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Go, go,” Thorin commanded, chuckling lightly.

Fili stood and walked the physician to the door, bestowing his thanks on him once again, shivering when the cold air bit at his skin again. When he returned to the sitting room, he found his uncle idly carding his hand through Kili’s hair, but he looked to be a million miles away. Hesitantly, he sat back down next to them, smiling fondly at his brother’s soft snores, before laying a hand on Thorin’s arm.

“Are you alright, uncle?” he asked, causing the older dwarf to jump slightly before he focused on him.

“I…”he started, then frowned. “I am just feeling sentimental, I suppose.” His arms tightened almost imperceptibly around his nephew’s slumbering form. “It has been a very long time since I needed to care for a sick dwarfling.”

Fili wondered whom it was that Thorin had cared for. He couldn’t remember a time when he or Kili had been sick, really sick, and needed a lot of extra attention. Most of the illnesses that afflicted them barely lasted a day, and almost none of them ever required any medicines, just a bit of sleep and then they were good as new.

“Frerin fell ill often,” he continued, answering Fili’s unasked question. “I find myself thinking about him more and more these days. Kili is much like him, in spirit.”

At the mention of his name, Kili stirred weakly against his chest, but Thorin quickly soothed him back into sleep by humming quietly. For a while, they sat there, on the floor of their sitting room, nestled together. Fili did not ask more questions about his other uncle, and Thorin volunteered no more information.

After a while, Fili broke the quiet with what he’d thought was a harmless question.

“Where we your coming from, this morning? You weren’t working at the forge all night, were you?” His voice held a tint of concern to it.

Thorin sighed, shoulders sagging with some weight that Fili did not understand. “I had thought…there were signs, indicating that the dragon may have gone from the mountain, that we may soon be able to return to Erebor.” Fili’s eyes widened with excitement. “But Balin came to rouse me early this morning. Word had come that the dragon was alive and well, burning the eastern woods before barricading himself back inside.” His voice was tinted with a bitterness that Fili hadn’t heard often.

Fili groaned in frustration for his uncle. He knew how much Thorin wanted to reclaim their homeland, and he had no doubts that they would one day do so, but there was not much one dwarf could do against the might of a dragon, so they had to wait until fate was on their side.

“I promise you,” Thorin whispered as he wrapped an arm around Fili’s shoulders. “I promise both of you that you will see your home some day soon. You will be princes of Erebor, as you were meant to be. You will have your home again.”

Fili nodded and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as an unexpected wave of emotion surged through him. “We already have a home, uncle,” he murmured quietly. “It’s with you.”

He didn’t dare look up to see what emotions played about Thorin’s face, but he guessed from the shuddering sigh and the kiss pressed to his temple that his uncle had tears in his eyes. “My sweet, wonderful boys,” his uncle murmured as he hugged him closer. “I would be lost without you.”

\-----

In all, it takes Kili a week to get over the pox. He spends most of the week asleep in Fili’s lap while he reads or practices braiding his brother’s dark hair. Despite the cold, and news of the lad’s illness, he has many visitors on his birthday.

Ori comes and chats excitedly about Kili joining his weapons training. The older dwarfling doesn’t plan on becoming a warrior, not like Fili and Kili, so he still spends his time learning the basics with a practice sword, and hasn’t moved on to mastering specific weapons like Fili has, and he is excited to have someone new to spar with. 

Bofur brings him some carved toys, a dragon and a dwarf warrior that Fili thinks looks suspiciously like their father, and sits with him for a while, letting Kili slay the dragon until he starts coughing too much again, and then leaves him to let him sleep. 

Dwalin doesn’t come out in the cold, just as Thorin had predicted, but Balin brings him a book that has pictures and information about all of the plants and animals that live in the woods outside their home. Kili asks him a thousand questions, until his voice is slurred with exhaustion and Balin takes his leave.

Bombur brings him a helping of soup that he claims will have him cured in hours, but Kili retches it back up not two minutes after the large dwarf left their home, and the three swiftly decide to never let the redhead know what happened to his favorite meal.

Kili demands to be allowed to start his weapons training the day his spots disappear, and for a while, Thorin hesitates. He can see that the lad had lost some weight from his illness, and he is wary of stressing the boy too much when he is only just well, but Dwalin placates the boy by agreeing to teach him the proper stances and leave the heavy work for another day.

Thorin finds himself watching with an amused smile as Dwalin shows him the appropriate stances, watches his brown eyes brim with adoration when he sees Fili perfectly execute a move, sees how both of their cheeks are flushed with excitement. He finally feels relaxed; Kili illness had made him immensely concerned, for reasons that he did not fully comprehend. He had seen dwarflings with the pox a number of times, had taken care of Dis when she’d had it. Seeing Kili so frail and weak must have drudged up memories of that awful dream he’d had, memories of Frerin, and that, combined with the news that the dragon was still alive and well and squatting on him home had stirred up a mix of emotions that he hadn’t truly known how to deal with.

It isn’t until Kili is excitedly tugging on his hand, dragging him into the sparring arena to demonstrate some stances with Dwalin that he drags himself out of his depressing thoughts. Fili’s words from a few days before spring back into his mind, and he wonders if maybe, maybe those words could be true for him as well.

“We already have a home, uncle. It’s with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think.


	6. Twenty and Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Wow. I just…wow. I am so overwhelmed by the love you guys show me; seriously! I am so glad that you’re loving this story and all of my favorite head cannons for these babies, and I am happy to bring you a brand spakin’ new chapter!
> 
> PS: Thank you for my dear friend Captain America (no tumblr or ff.net account, boo) for the beta read. We’ve been friends since middle school when we wrote super gay, super smutty Gundam Wing fics!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit.tumblr.com.  
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Angst, mean little dwarflings, awkward Dwalin and super protective Thorin, mild violence.

“Have you decided what weapon you would like to specialize in?” Thorin asks idly as they are walking back to the settlement. Fili has just turned twenty, and he has spent the last ten years learning how to maneuver and fight with all types of weapons. It is typically around a dwarfling’s twentieth year that they choose one to be their weapon of choice in battle. Those who aim to be warriors continue their training with that specific weapon until they reach their majority, and those who do not begin learning whatever craft they choose instead, while still attending weekly training sessions.

“Mister Dwalin really wants me to take up the axe,” he replies. “But I think I’d like to stick with the sword. Twin swords, perhaps, if I can manage it.”

Thorin can’t help the swell of pride that he feels at his nephew’s statement. Fili, despite his youth, has already shown all of the makings of a great warrior. He fights as fluidly as he has ever seen, and his instincts in battle (however mock they may be) are almost on par with Dwalin’s. He had flourished in his lessons with Balin, was smart and patient and kind, but stern when necessary, with maturity well beyond his years. He would be a great king one day, Thorin knew without a doubt.

“I think you’d be able to manage the twin swords just fine,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant about it, but Fili picks up on the pride in his voice and flashes him a bright smile, nudging him with his shoulder as he walks.

They’d travelled down from the settlement the day before, to deliver some of the goods Thorin and Dwalin had crafted at the forge to the town of men below. It was the first time Thorin had ever brought him along on business, but Fili supposed it was because he was due to start learning to ways of the forge, and Thorin wanted to start exposing him to what his work would entail.

Kili had pouted and whined at being left behind to stay with Dwalin and Balin, but if Fili was honest with himself, he had been grateful for the respite from his little brother, even if it were the first time they were apart from one another for an entire night. It was rare that he and Thorin were able to spend any time alone together, and he quite liked their easy conversations and comfortable silences that came when Kili was not around. It wasn’t to say that he didn’t adore his little brother any longer – he did, he really did – but there weren’t many dwarflings close to Kili’s age, and he hadn’t made hardly any of his own friends (save for Ori, but he had been Fili’s friend first), so he spent a great deal of time trailing after his older brother.

At first, it hadn’t bothered him at all, but then he became aware of the teasing looks his friends would pass one another when they saw Kili trailing behind him, saw how his friends would exclude him from some activities because they didn’t want Kili to come along. It wasn’t his brother’s fault, not really, they’d never lived around their own kind before coming to this settlement, and all they’d had was each other. But as he grew older, he found himself itching for independence, but he wasn’t sure how to get it without hurting Kili’s feelings.

“You awfully thoughtful,” Thorin observed as he urged their pony off the path for a rest, and Fili flushed lightly in embarrassment.

“Did you ever…” he started, as Thorin handed him a small container of stew they had purchased in the town before leaving. “Oh, never mind.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “Never mind what, lad?” he asked gently.

Fili sighed, trying to come up with the right words. “I know you loved Uncle Frerin,” he said quietly, taking note of the way his uncle tensed at the mention of his brother’s name. “But did you ever wish that he would just leave you be? I just…there aren’t any other dwarrows close to Kili’s age, other than Ori and me, but he’s just…he’s always following me around, trying to do what I want to do, and sometimes I wish he’d just leave me alone.”

Thorin nodded. “I suppose I felt that way for a time, but things were different in Erebor than they are here; there were many more children around, and we had your mother.” An uncommonly soft smile graced his lips. “I do remember him becoming bothersome, but then your mother came along, and he decided that he wanted to be ‘as great a big brother as Thorin,’ and he spent much of his time with her, when I was your age.”

Fili sighed heavily. “I just wish he had his own friends,” he muttered. Upon glancing back up at Thorin’s face, and noticing the stern look he was receiving, he corrected himself. “I love him, Uncle, you know that I do, but I…”

“You want to be your own dwarf, and you don’t know how to do that with Kili constantly around,” he finished for him.

“Exactly!” he agreed. “And I don’t want to hurt his feelings; I would rather die than do that.”

“Perhaps I will speak to him when we return,” Thorin offered. “He does need to learn to be without you, without me, but I suspect it will be a hard lesson for him.”

“Maybe that would help,” Fili agreed. “Thank you, Uncle.”

\-----

Dwalin frowned, watching as Ori was very close to besting Kili in their sparring match. Kili may not have been as fluid of a fighter as his brother or uncle, but he was still quite talented, far more talented than Ori, and he should have been easily winning their match. Ori swings his wooden sword at Kili’s legs, sending the younger lad toppling to the ground with a frustrated huff. The point of Ori’s sword is immediately at the lad’s sternum, as he happily demands that Kili yield.

It has been a long time since Ori has won a sparring match, since he is often paired with Kili, and Dwalin allows himself a small smile as he watches a grin split across his young face, talking excitedly with Kili as he reaches a hand down to help the smaller lad up. Kili gives him a pat on the back and a strained smile, and Dwalin decides that the boys have had enough sparring for the day.

“Nicely done, Ori,” he calls, and Ori gives him the most pleased expression while Kili looks at the ground, ashamed. “I think that’s enough for you today; run along home, lad.”

Ori does as he’s told, and Kili trudges over to him, shoulders hunched and eyes fixed firmly on the ground. Dwalin knows he is expecting a tongue lashing, and he’s half determined to give it to him. He wants to remind him that he is of the line of Durin, is second in line for the throne, and that he must take his training seriously, but the snickers from some of the older dwarrows, ones that usually train with Gloin, from across the arena change his mind. The lad probably feels embarrassed enough, and he feels no need to humiliate him further.

“Come on, lad,” he mutters softly. “Let’s go practice with your throwing knives and call it a day.”

“M’tired,” Kili complains, but follows obediently. Dwalin was well aware of the fact that the lad hadn’t slept at all the night before; he’d overheard him confessing as much to Balin that morning, saying that he couldn’t sleep without Fili or his uncle. He felt a pang of sympathy for the boy; he could remember when he’d been absolutely unable to fall asleep until his mother had read him a story, or sang him a lullaby, or simply sat with him, and he hadn’t been much older than Kili when he’d started to grow out of that phase. He was sure it had been hard to spend his first night away from both of them.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a better sleep tonight,” he said. “I can’t sleep in that dreadful guest room either. It’s always cold and smells too much like Balin’s books.”

Kili laughs lightly at that and flashes him a grateful smile.

“Besides, I’d like to give your uncle some good news about your training, instead of telling him of how little Ori trounced you,” he adds, laughing heartily when Kili glowers at him.

Whenever Kili has a bad day at training, Dwalin likes to take him to practice his throwing knives to cheer him up. Kili’s hands are steady, and his aim is always true, so the practice usually serves to restore his confidence for the day, and gives him something to rave to Thorin about. He and Kili quickly set up the range, distributing the targets to all different distances, including some that are quite far away that the lad doesn’t yet have the arm to reach, though not for lack of trying.

Once he is satisfied with the targets, Dwalin turns back to the start, intending to tell Kili to pull out his knives to get started, and sees the lad running his fingers along a bow resting against the weapons rack.

“Can I learn to use the bow instead?” Kili asks, and Dwalin starts to tell him no, remembering what a disaster it had been to try and teach Fili. He was aiming to boost the lad’s confidence, not frustrate him further. But Thorin had some skill with a bow, and if he remembered correctly, so did the boy’s father, so he didn’t see the harm in trying.

“So long as your promise not to nearly shoot me like your brother did,” he agrees. “Though you’ll need a smaller one than that.” He searches through the weapons rack for a moment, finally finding one that should do for the lad. It’s a bit beat up and needs restringing, and he silently hopes that it doesn’t snap on the boy. He grabs a vambrace and a finger tab and instructs the lad to put them on while he searches for a quiver with usable arrows. It has been a while since any of the dwarrows had tried to learn archery, and he hadn’t realized how badly his supplies had dwindled.

“Now,” he murmurs when Kili has all of the correct gear. “Let’s say we want to shoot at this target.” He points to one about midway down the range, grasping Kili by the shoulders to pull him into position. “You’ll need to stand here, vertical to the target.” He crouches down behind the boy and grasps both of his hands. “Put the bow in your left – that’s it, and you’ll pull with your right.” He shows Kili how to grasp the string and pull it back to shoot. “Three fingers, lad, and pull it back until they brush your cheek.”

He has the lad practice pulling the string back a few times, pleased to see that his hands are as steady as ever, before handing him an arrow and showing him how to nock it in place. He has the lad practice pulling it back a few times more, has him practice lining up the arrow to the target, before telling him to take a deep breath and shoot.

The arrow thunks into the target, just below the bull’s-eye, and Dwalin’s mouth drops open in astonishment.

“Was that good?” Kili asks earnestly, an excited smile on his face as he waits for his elder’s reaction.

Dwalin stands straight and steps away from him. “Do it again,” he demands, eager to see if the lad can repeat his success without his assistance. Kili’s smile falters slightly at the avoidance of his question, but he does as he’s told. The second arrow hits its mark, right in the center of the target, and Dwalin lets out a roaring cheer for the lad. Kili smiles up at him, face flushed with excitement as Dwalin claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he laughed. “Fourteen years old and already better than your uncle!”

Kili positively glows from his praise.

They spend the next few hours shooting at all of the targets, and Kili at least hits every last one of them. Eventually the string does snap, leaving a burn across Kili’s cheek, but the lad is too excited to care. He practically bounces the entire way back to Dwalin and Balin’s home, chatting animatedly with Dwalin the entire way. His enthusiasm rubs off on the older dwarf, and he finds himself often laughing with the lad, and eventually he promises to find him a proper bow.

When they arrive back out the house, Balin listens intently as Kili recounts his achievements in archery, and shoves at Dwalin’s shoulder, calling him ‘an old softy’ when he sees him beaming with praise.

\-----

“Would you like to come with me to fetch your brother?” Thorin asks as they’re leaving the stables. For a moment, Fili wonders why he even asks, before he remembers their earlier conversation.

“Of course I would,” he says quietly. “I’ve missed him.”

Thorin gives him a fond smile. “I have as well. Let us hope he did not terrorize Dwalin too badly.”

Fili laughs. “I wouldn’t count on it. He’s been with them for an entire day!”

Thorin knocks thrice on the door before letting himself in, and is nearly tackled to the floor not a moment later when Kili barrels into him. He lifts the lad into a firm hug before planting a kiss on his cheek and setting him back down. Kili does succeed in knocking his brother over when he pounces on him, declaring how much he missed him as he does.

“And here I thought you would have tired him out for me,” Thorin comments dryly as he claps arms with Dwalin.

“Give him five minutes,” his longtime friend mutters. “Didn’t sleep at all last night, and trained all day. He’ll be out like a light before you get him home.”

“Uncle!” Kili calls as he helps Fili back to his feet. The lad is smiling brightly, but Thorin can see the exhaustion etched across his features. “Mister Dwalin taught me how to shoot a bow and he says…he says I’m even better than you!” he declares excitedly.

“No doubt you’re better than me, at least,” Fili adds, flashing Dwalin a sheepish smile.

“Is that so?” Thorin asks, tenderly cupping the lad’s head with fond affection.

“Aye, it is,” Dwalin confirmed. “A right natural, that boy is. Steady hands and aim as true as ever!”

“I suppose one day soon you’ll have a new hunting partner, my friend,” Thorin adds with a small smile, watching as Kili stumbles over his words to tell Fili about his day, his hands gripping at his brother’s excitedly.

He understands Fili’s need for independence, but he also understands Kili’s dependence on him, and he hopes that he is able to come to a happy solution between the pair. He has no doubt that it will hurt Kili, but hopefully he will be able to distract him with his own lessons and, now, archery, to make it sting less.

Balin invites them to stay for dinner, but he can see how Kili’s eyelids are drooping and hear the sleepy slurs in his words, so he declines. He gathers Kili up on his back to take him home and bids his longtime friends a good night.

As Dwalin predicted, he is asleep before they reach their home.

\-----

“But I always go to the market with Fili.”

Thorin pinches the bridge of his nose, willing himself to stay patient. It’s been a number of weeks since he and Fili traveled to the town of men alone, and Kili is still fighting him on spending time away from his brother.

Their talk had gone well; Kili seemed to understand that it was important that they become their own dwarrows, that they would inevitably have to spend long periods of time apart, and that he may as well start adjusting to it now. Though he supposed there was a large difference between understanding the words and accepting the small absences of his brother in his life.

Two nights before, he’d let Fili spend the night with another dwarfling’s family, and he’d fully intended to make Kili sleep in his own bed, alone, just once. He’d gotten the lad to fall asleep after hours of stories, but when Kili woke not long after, screaming from night terrors, Thorin had relented and pulled him into bed with him for the remainder of the night. Kili had asked a million questions about where his brother was and why he couldn’t be with him every time they were separated.

“I know, Kili,” he grumbled. “But he is going to spend some time with his friends today.” His youngest nephew frowned at him. “You have sparring practice anyhow; you couldn’t go with him if you wanted to.”

“But I do want to!” Kili huffed.

Thorin sighed. “You must remember what we talked about, lad.”

“But it’s not fair!” he whined. “There are lots of dwarrows Fili’s age for him to play with. All I have is Ori, and Mister Dori never lets him out, if he can help it.”

Thorin pursed his lips. Kili did have a point. “You used to always love spending time with Mister Bofur,” he says, trying to find someone who the lad might be able to spend time with, other than his brother.

“He’s in the mines all the time now,” Kili pouted. “And he’s a grown up! I don’t want to play with grown ups.”

“Well, perhaps when baby Gimli is older…?” he starts, but snaps his mouth shut at the glare Kili gives him. It rivals his own, and makes Thorin wonder yet again if Kili could pass for his own son.

“I just don’t understand why Fili doesn’t like me anymore,” Kili mumbles as he pulls on his boots. He’ll need to leave for training soon, lest he want Dwalin to be cross with him again.

“Kili,” Thorin sighs, and a frown on his face “Your brother loves you, you shouldn’t say such things.”

“Sorry,” he mutters as he grabs his sword and focuses on attaching the belt to his waist.

“You must give your brother some time, Kili. He will figure things out for himself soon enough.” Thorin urged. Kili doesn’t answer; he just keeps his gaze fixed on the floor as he secures his weapon He sighs and walks over to his youngest nephew, tipping his chin up to make him meet his gaze.

He frowns at the tears he sees pooling in the lad’s eyes, but Kili quickly squeezes his eyes shut to clear the tears away. “M’fine, Uncle,” he promised, even as Thorin’s thumb sweeps across his cheek to wipe the one droplet that escaped.

“My boy,” he murmured softly. “Give it time. You must learn to be without your brother sometime. When he is of age, he’ll be expected to travel with me for many occasions. You must learn how to be all right on your own.”

The boy frowned, and Thorin saw the absolute fear in his eyes before he took a deep breath and nodded. He was clearly none too pleased about this new bit of information. “Yes, Uncle,” he whispered.

Thorin cupped both his cheeks and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “That’s a good lad,” he said, giving Kili one of the small smiles that he reserved for his nephews. “Now, let’s get you to your training, shall we?”

He doesn’t usually walk the boy to his lessons, not here where there is abundant safety in living with other dwarrows, but he is due to be at the forge anyhow, and he thinks it might be wise to warn Dwalin of Kili’s potential sour mood. He doesn’t miss the small, grateful smile that Kili gives him before he jogs across the sparring arena, to where Ori is sifting through the weapons with interest. Dwalin claps him on the shoulder in greeting once he arrives; the pair lean on the fence that surrounded the small space.

“Off to the forge, are you?” he asks, friendly smile on his face. “I’ll be on my way over when I finish with the lads,” he adds when Thorin nods.

“Lots of pots to mend,” Thorin muttered dryly. The day before, a trio of brothers had travelled from the town of men and dropped off an alarming quantity of cookware to be mended for their mother, as a birthday gift. It wasn’t the sort of work that he particularly enjoyed – his skill lay primarily in weapon making – but work was work, and he would take it either way.

“I got something for your boy,” Dwalin said as he watched Ori attempt to pull a much too large sword from the weapons rack, much to Kili’s amusement. “Found a bow he could use for practice, if you want him to have it.”

Thorin chuckled lightly. “I think a bow of his own is just the thing to mend this terrible mood of his.”

Dwalin scoffed. “You always bring him to me when he’s in a mood,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well, you are his favorite grown up, or so he tells me,” Thorin explains. “After dear Mister Bofur, of course.”

Dwalin gives him a punch on the arm. “Well, I’m sure I’ll be first after I give him that bow,” he declares, and Thorin laughs as he bids his farewell and heads to the forge.

\-----

Fili laughs heartily as Clach tells an obviously embellished story about how his da took on a whole horde of orcs, singe-handedly killing each and every one in a variety of creative ways. He doesn’t mind the older dwarrow much, he’s a bit brash and standoffish, but he tells amusing stories and he was the first to welcome Fili into their group, despite the fact that he was a good five years younger than the rest of them. He praised Fili for his height and his skill in the arena, and he found himself preferring the approval of his peers to Kili’s blind adoration.

Abruptly, Clach halted in his story, a small sneer forming on his face. “I thought I told you to leave him at home, Fili.”

Fili turned to look behind him, and, sure enough, Kili was racing in his direction with Ori trailing behind him, happy smiles on their faces. “I did,” he sighs. “Let me just see what he wants.”

Kili very nearly crashed into him, and he probably would have fallen straight on his behind if Fili and Ori hadn’t both reached out hands to steady him. “Look, Fee; look!” he exclaimed as he pulled a bow from his back. “Look what Mister Dwalin got me! I can practice all the time now!”

He couldn’t help but smile at his brother’s enthusiasm, and he reached down to squeeze Kili’s shoulder affectionately. “That’s great, brother,” he murmured. “Have you gone to show Uncle?”

Kili shook his head. “I wanted you to see first!” He was breathless with his excitement. “Will you come and watch me shoot?”

He heard one of the other dwarrows, Mogue, he thought, laugh loudly, and the rest of his friends snickered along. He sighed. He’d like to go and see, he really would, but he knew his friends would never let him hear the end of it if he ran off now, not after he’d promised that he could keep Kili out of his hair long enough to spend time with them. “Not today, Kee. I’m busy.”

A tiny bit of guilt gnawed at him as Kili’s face fell. His younger brother looked behind him at his friends and sighed. “Some other time then?” he asked, his voice tinged with disappointment that only Fili could pick up on.

He gave him a small smile. “Of course. Now run along and show Uncle!”

Kili still frowned, but he nodded. Ori grabbed his arm and urged him with a quiet “Come on, then,” and they disappeared in the direction of the forge.

“How sweet; the little elf has his own bow now,” Mogue murmured as he turned back around, causing the other dwarrows to laugh loudly. “How much longer do you think until he runs off in the words with his own kind?”

Fili frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“We’ve been wondering,” Clach said as he crossed his arms on his chest. “Is he really your brother?”

“What?” he asked, feeling anger surge hotly inside of him. Surely they could not be insinuating….

“Well he’s so fair of face and has such a small nose that he may as well be an elfling,” Mogue observed.

“And no sign of a beard at all!” Baeddan chimed in. “Even that baby born a few months ago has his beard long enough to braid!”

“And you Da died before he was born, if I’m not mistaken,” Clach observed, and Fili had to clinch his fists at his sides. “There’s loads of stories about dwarf women becoming right whores when their Ones die. Probably found herself a wandering elf to keep her company at night!”

“Shut it,” Fili demanded, his voice dangerously low., almost lost amongst the laughter of his so-called friends A few of the other dwarrows backed away slightly, and one of the lasses tugged at Clach’s arm, but he shrugged her off.

“It’s too bad she’s dead and can’t tell you for certain,” he continued, voice dripping venom. “Probably killed herself with shame the second he was born, I’d wager.”

“Shut UP!” Fili shouted again, and a few of the dwarrows scattered off. Clach stood his ground, Mogue and Baeddan by his sides. “You know nothing of my family,” he seethed.

“And then you are your uncle are just too stupid to see what’s obvious,” he baited again. “Can’t even see what a worthless half-breed runt you have in front of you.”

Something inside Fili snapped and he lunged at Clach as his vision bled red. His fists connected with his face, arms, stomach, anything he could reach. He caught the older dwarfling completely off guard, and he’d only had time to bring his arms up to shield his face. Baeddan and Mogue tried to pull him off, but he aimed punches at their stomachs until they turned tail and ran. Clach was screaming obscenities at him, and trying to flip him off, but Fili help strong, kept his attack going.

He was dimly aware of someone screaming and crying, but in his haze of rage, he did not realize it was himself.

Suddenly, a pair of strong hands grabbed him about his shoulders and yanked him away. He struggled to pull away, to get back to the brawl, but he was tackled to the ground, arms pinned helplessly to his sides.

“That’s enough, lad” Dwalin was all but growling in his ear as the red slowly cleared from his vision and he calmed. As soon as he stopped struggling, he was grabbed up by his arm and all but hauled away from the marketplace. He couldn’t stop the hot, angry tears from falling, and he knew that he must look terribly, terribly weak, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. In the blink of an eye, he was being shoved through the door of the forge and practically tossed to the floor.

Thorin looked up from his work and frowned. “What in Durin’s name is going on?” he nearly shouted as he took in the sight of his shaking, sobbing nephew, dropping his tools to crouch by him when he saw the blood on his knuckles.

“Brawling witch Clach in the marketplace,” Dwalin growled angrily. “After all we’ve taught him about propriety…”

“Do you know what they say about them?” Fili snapped as his uncle drew his hands up for closer inspection. “What they say about Mum? And Kee?” He choked out a sobbing breath. “They call her a whore, uncle. A whore! And they said Kili was a half-breed, that he was worthless, and I couldn’t…” He dissolves into a fit of sobs.

Thorin pulls him close. “Breathe, Fili,” he urges gently, trying to calm to boy down. “You mustn’t let yourself get caught up in the idle gossip of children. They know nothing.”

It takes a few moments for Fili to calm his breathing, but he can’t quite get a reign on his tears. “I wish mum was still here,” he laments against his uncle’s chest. “They wouldn’t have anything to say if she were here.”

Thorin eventually pushes him away and murmurs, “Let’s get you cleaned up, then” as he pats his cheek and offers him a sad smile. “Kili, fetch me that basin of water and a rag.”

Fili looks behind his uncle to see his brother, wide-eyed and trembling, with an equally astonished Ori standing next to him, but he does as he’s told. He was still clutching that stupid bow in his hands before grasping the basin, and he feels an anger he can’t describe bubble up inside of him.

“You,” he all but snarls when Kili turns back to face him. His younger brother stops dead in his tracks, brows furrowed in confusion at his brother’s tone.

“Fili,” Thorin warns, but he doesn’t care. He hurts, he hurts because of Kili and suddenly, terrifyingly, he wants Kili to hurt to.

“I told you to leave me alone,” he nearly shouts as he scrambles to his feet. Thorin grabs his wrist to pull him back, but he twists it free.

Kili takes a step back, knuckles white as they grasp the basin, and Fili takes satisfaction in the fact that he looks like he might cry. “M’sorry, Fee,” he murmurs in a tremulous voice. “I just wanted…”

“This is your fault!” he snaps. “If you would just listen! If you would just act like a proper dwarf instead of like…like some elfling! And…and Mum would still be here if it wasn’t for you! I wish you hadn’t been born!”

He has only a second to see the tears that streak down his brother’s face before the basin clatters to the floor. He hears Ori shout, “Kili, wait!” as his uncle whirls him around. Thorin cuffs him hard in the jaw, just as the door slams shut, and Fili finds himself sprawled on the floor of the forge. His brain finally registers what he’s said, and a sick horror stirs in his gut as he realizes what he has done.

“I didn’t…” he mumbles as a wave of nausea surges up within him. “I didn’t mean…”

Thorin grabs him by his tunic and practically throws him onto a nearby armchair, looming over him with the angriest expression he has ever seen. Fili hates that the anger is directed at him, hates that he deserves it, and shame washes over him. What has he done?

“Are you finished?” Thorin practically growls. When Fili doesn’t answer, he grabs his shoulders and shakes him firmly.

“Yes! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to say that, Uncle; I swear!” His hand reaches up to cup the soreness in his jaw, still disbelieving that he had driven his uncle to hit him in anger. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry,” he mumbles, close to crying again. What has he done?!

A strange emotion flits across Thorin’s face before he sighs heavily. He rights himself, gaze still filled with anger, as he heads to an equipment cabinet and pulls out a small jar of something. He tosses it to Fili, and he recognizes it as a salve they use for any burns or wounds the may acquire in the forge. “Put that on your jaw,” he commands. “And don’t even think of moving from that spot until I’ve found your brother.”

He flushes with shame and embarrassment. “Yes, Uncle,” he whispers.

He waits until the door slams shut to let himself cry.

\-----

Dwalin had chased after Kili the second he’d bolted from the forge, as had Ori, but damn if the lad wasn’t fast and he’d lost sight of him in the marketplace.

“I think I know where he’s going,” Ori offered, so Dwalin gestured from him to show him the way. The lad takes off through the marketplace, heading to the mouth of the cavern. Dwalin instinctively grasps the hilt of his sword; the woods on the face of the mountain could easily be teeming with orcs and goblins, and it is no place for dwarflings.

Sure enough, he catches sight of Kili again as he bolts for the tree line. He knows the lad loves the fresh air in the forest, that he loves to climb trees, and he almost wants to give the lad his respite and let him wander the woods until he calms, but Thorin would have his head if anything happened to the boy and he had done nothing, so he hurries off to follow, leaving Ori struggling to keep up behind him.

Kili trips over something just after he passes the tree line and careens to the ground, face first. Dwalin panics for a split second when the lad makes no move to get up, hastens his steps to get to him as soon as possible. He would deny it later, but his heart plummets into his boots when he gets a good look at the lad. He’s practically curled in on himself, hands grasping at the forest soil, sobbing brokenly. He sinks to his knees next to him, but is at a complete loss of what to do. Comforting little dwarrows was not a skill he’d ever needed to acquire, something he’d always left to Balin to deal with, and he suddenly wished that it were Thorin who had followed the boy out. He tentatively splays a hand across Kili’s back, but that only makes the dwarfling cry harder, and he immediately pulls it away as if he’s been burned.

Thankfully, Ori is not far behind him. He crouches next to him, murmuring softly to him as he grasps at his hands and pulls at him, eventually pulling him into a half-sitting position where he’s leaning heavily against Ori’s side. He doesn’t offer any words of comfort, just quiet encouragement to focus on his breathing, to relax. It takes a long while, long enough that the sun begins to set and eerie shadows fall throughout the forest, but the lad eventually calms.

Dwalin sits and watches, feeling useless. He wants to go and find Thorin, to lead him to the lads and maybe go and knock some sense into Fili, but he is reluctant to leave two young dwarflings in the forest at sunset, so he waits.

“Let’s get you home, lad,” he offers once the boy has been calm for a while, but Kili shakes his head.

“Don’t want to go there,” he whispers, but he doesn’t fight it when Dwalin starts to pull him to his feet. He stumbles with every step he takes, and Ori eventually pulls him onto his back. Darkness has fallen by the time they reach the marketplace, and Dwalin finally releases a long-held breath as he lets his hand fall away from the hilt of his sword.

They find Thorin speaking with one of the members of the settlement guard, overhear him saying that he will see to it that Fili personally pays him the fine for brawling in the marketplace, while Clach’s father demands that he also apologize to his boy. Thorin’s tone is tight, his face rigid, and Dwalin can’t begin to imagine the myriad of emotions his old friend must be feeling now.

The rightful king’s tension positively melts when he spies them approaching, and he quickly excuses himself from the conversation.

“There you are,” he breaths as he pulls an unresponsive Kili from Ori’s back and holds him close. “You had me right terrified, Kili.” Kili only moves to curl his fingers into Thorin’s hair, something he has done since a babe to calm himself. Thorin balances him carefully on his hip, suddenly grateful that the lad hasn’t grown too big for his arms the way Fili has.

“Come, Ori,” he murmurs quietly. “I’ll walk you home. I’m sure your brothers are wondering where you’ve got off to.”

Ori has to nod in agreement. “I’m surprised Dori isn’t turning the marketplace upside down as we speak,” he admits.

They drop Ori off at home, to a very relieved looking Dori, and bid Dwalin a god night when they pass his home. Their home is quiet and still when they arrive, and Thorin sets about getting a bath started for the lad. He’s covered in a fine layer of dirt, and Thorin knows he must have run out into the woods, which makes him ever more grateful of Dwalin’s watchful eyes. And Ori’s.

Kili doesn’t speak once, stays stoic as ever; even with Thorin’s gentle prodding. He sits still as a stone in the bath, but once Thorin’s gotten him clean, he starts to cry again, silently and softly, but still the tears tear at Thorin in a way he wishes it didn’t.

It reminds him of Frerin, the bleakest he’d ever seen his brother, when he’s discovered that his One hadn’t escaped from Erebor. He’d been despondent for weeks, and it had nearly torn Thorin apart with worry. They’d just lost their home; he couldn’t bear the thought of loosing his brother, too.

But he had lost his brother, in the end. And his father, his grandfather, his sister.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts by Kili’s hand brushing gently across his cheek. It’s a gesture he’s seen the lad use on his brother many times, less often on himself. It’s his way of offering comfort when he can tell someone is upset or sad.

“I’m sorry,” Kili murmurs, his voice rough from crying and disuse. “It’s my fault…”

“No,” Thorin says, his tone leaving no room for argument, though Kili hasn’t learned to head that just yet.

“But Fosur says that your cursed if your mum dies when you’re born…” he argues, tears pooling in his eyes, but Thorin cuts him off.

“Your mum did not die when you were born, Kili,” he soothes. “She fell ill after, from the cold. It was not your fault.”

“But Fosur says…”

“Fosur is an idiot,” Thorin nearly snaps, remembering the ill attitude the young dwarrow from their old town had always sported. He thrived on making the other dwarflings feel small, and stupid. He’d told Kili that he wasn’t a real dwarf because his parents were dead. He hadn’t thought it possible to hate a child, but with terrors like Fosur, and now Clach, he was starting to reconsider.

“But Fili said…” Kili murmurs, a choked sob coming out at the mere memory of what his brother had said to him a few hours prior.

“Your brother is acting like an idiot,” Thorin explained as he drew Kili from the tub and wrapped him in a towel before sitting him in his lap. “He did not know what he was saying, Kili, I promise you.” Kili starts to protest again, but he shushes him. “He was hurt and sadden by what his friends said, little one. He forgot himself in his anger.”

Kili doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Head hurts,” he mumbles.

“Let’s get you some tea then,” he decides, handing the lad a sleeping tunic to put on as he finishes drying himself. He looks so young to Thorin’s eyes, so raw, and he wishes that he could take back Fili’s anger, wishes he cold have bottled the lad’s innocence years ago, wishes he could have kept him pure.

He hesitates for a moment before slipping a bit of sleeping drought into Oin’s headache cure-all tea brew. If Kili notices it, he doesn’t mention it, and he drinks the entire mug while Thorin finishes combing the knots from his hair. It isn’t long until Kili declares that he is sleepy, and by the time he has the lad tucked into his bed he is fast asleep.

He sighs heavily and sits to watch the lad sleep for a while. He doesn’t want to fetch Fili, not when he’s still this angry. He’s angry with the boy for his ill-thought words and actions. He’s angry that he was brawling in the marketplace instead of being his normal, level headed self. Most of all, he was angry with himself for striking Fili in anger. He wishes he could take it back, but he knows he can’t. He’s made a mistake and he has to live with it, has to hope that Fili will forgive him, but he can’t shake the feeling that there’s something between them that he’s broken and can never get back.

Eventually he pulls himself from his cowardice and returns to the forge. He doesn’t know whether he’s pleased of saddened that Fili is still exactly where he left him, eyes red and swollen from crying and sporting a smattering of purple along his jaw.

“Is he alright?” he asks immediately, uncurling himself from the armchair, but not daring to leave without Thorin’s permission.

“Aye, he is,” he answers quietly. “He is rather upset, and tired, and sore –“

“Why is he sore?” Fili nearly shouted, voice tinged with concern.

“Ori said he fell in the words,” he explains quickly. “He’s not hurt, Fili. I promise you.”

Fili looks desperate. “I have to speak with him, Uncle. I have to tell him I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I love him so much, so much and I need to…”

“Shhh, lad,” he murmurs, reaching a hand out to pat his shoulder. “He knows. He’ll feel better once you tell him, but he knows.”

“Does he hate me?” he asks in a small voice.

Thorin kneels down to be level with his eldest nephew. “He does not, Fili. He adores you. That’s why he was so upset.”

Fili nods before nervously chewing on his lip. “Do you hate me?”

Thorin shook his head, reached forward to cup his uninjured cheek. “I could never. I’m sorry I struck you,” he murmurs, feeling ashamed. “I forgot myself.”

Fili gives him a small smile. “I think I needed it.” He sighed. “I didn’t even know what I was saying,” he whispers, disbelievingly.

“There is a fierce anger that comes when someone threatens the ones you love,” Thorin speaks quietly. “I doubt you have felt that anger before.” Fili shakes his head. “I would like to say that you won’t feel it again, but I know you will. In time you will learn to direct it only to those who deserve it, but I do not blame you for lashing out as you did.”

Fili nods. “Uncle,” he murmurs, “do people really think that? About Mum and Kili?”

Thorin sighs and ruffles and hand through Fili’s messy hair. “There are some who seek to bring down our family, Fili. They seek to make us out to be monsters, to say that we deserve what the dragon brought to us. And they will say things – they will say anything – they wish if they think others will believe it.”

Fili frowns deeply. “Is that why you want to get Erebor back?”

“It is but a small part. I have learned not to care much of what others think of my line, though the idle gossip does stir up more anger than it should, especially when it concerns you brother,” he admits. “But he is young, he will grow and be strong, and all of these idiotic doubts will be cast aside.”

Fili nods and absorbs his uncle’s words for a moment. “I want to go home,” he whispers, finally. “Can I come home?”

Thorin stands and pulls Fili to his feet as well. “Of course, of course. I did not intend to keep you locked away in here. I just wanted to tend to both of you, to make sure you were both alright.”

Fili hums quietly in agreement. “I just feel empty,” he admits quietly as he wraps his fingers in the fabric of Thorin’s sleeve. “I just…I need Kili to know that I’m sorry, that I didn’t mean it. I meant it when I said I would rather die than hurt him.”

“I know,” Thorin murmurs quietly as they slip back out into the marketplace.

“I can’t believe I thought people lack Clach could be more important than Kee,” he continues. “I’m so stupid.”

“You must make mistakes in order to learn from them, Fili,” Thorin soothes gently. “This will pass in time. You cannot take your actions back, nor your words, but you will be able to choose your future actions with more care.”

“I’m so sorry, Uncle,” Fili whispers again. Thorin doesn’t attempt to soothe him further, he knows there is nothing more he can say, and they walk in a stiff silence back to their home.

As soon as Fili steps inside, he sheds his boots and his weapons and rushed back to the bedroom he shares with his brother. Thorin is half tempted to stop him, to let Kili sleep, but he knows Fili needs this. He follows after him, feeling more tired than he can remember for a long, long time, but needed to make sure they are both okay before he lets himself sleep.

“Kili,” Fili calls urgently, shaking his brother gently to rouse him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice clogged with tears. “I’m so, so sorry, Kee.”

Kili is crawling into his arms as soon as he realizes what is going on, hands cupping his cheeks, fingers brushing the tears away when they fall.

“I love you so much,” Fili admits into his hair when he clutches him close. “It’s not your fault; I was so stupid. I’m sorry. I love you.” He repeats the words like a litany until he’s sure Kili believes him. Eventually Fili calms himself down, his fingers brushing through Kili’s hair and holding his brother close to his chest.

“Please forgive me, Kee,” he murmurs as he’s crawling into bed with his brother to sleep. “Please, please. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t.”

“S’okay, Fee,” is all Kili says, his voice heavy with exhaustion and the tears that are still falling.

Fili sobs with relief.

\-----

Thorin let’s the door slip closed quietly when he is sure that the boys are all right, that they won’t start fighting or reject each one another. He sinks into an armchair in their front room, sags back in it with exhaustion. He can’t help the negative turn his thoughts take.

Like Fili, he wishes his sister were still alive. He wishes it were her who read Kili to sleep and braided Fili’s hair. He wishes it wasn’t him, alone, mucking it up all over the place. He always found himself trying to decide what Dis would do in situations with her boys, and sometimes he tries to emulate her, but he can’t, no matter how hard he tries.

He wishes Frerin were here. He was always better when Frerin was around, hadn’t really been whole since he’d lost him on the battlefield so long ago. Frerin had been so young, too young to fight in a battle. They both had been far too you, and the only reason they’d fought was because their grandfather had felt so desperate to find them a home. He remembers holding Frerin tight against his chest, combing his fingers through his hair as he died. They had been as close as Fili and Kili were, and when Frerin died, part of Thorin did too.

He doesn’t try to stop the tears that start streaming down his cheeks. He doesn’t try to stop the sobs that bubble up in his throat. He doesn’t stop himself from crawling into bed with his nephews, doesn’t stop the small smile that comes when they curl up next to him in sleep, Kili sand sandwiched between his brother and his uncle.

He wonders if one day he’ll tell his boys that they keep the bad dreams away from him, or if he’ll just let them think it’s only the other way around.


	7. Twenty-Four and Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – So, this chapter got away from me a little bit. I probably should have split it in two, but oh well. This chapter is 26 pages in Word, and I usually start to wrap up after 10. =)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this update! 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit.tumblr.com.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Violence, blood, little bit of gore (and if you’re squeamish about broken bones you might be uncomfortable for a bit), angsty, angsty angst.

“Well look who it is,” someone sneered from behind him. “The little runt who would rather be a bookworm than a warrior.”

Ori flinched at the words, but kept his head held high, though he did clutch the three tomes he was carrying closer to his chest. He had just finished a history lesson with Balin, one that he had found particularly fascinating; even of it had nearly put Kili to sleep. His teacher had loaned him a few books to read up more on the subject before ushering him out. Normally, Kili would head for the marketplace with him, but Balin had held him back, presumably to give him a scolding for his behavior, and he found himself wishing that his friend were with him. The others usually didn’t bother him unless he was alone. He started to second-guess his decision to cut through one of the back alleyways on his way to Bofur’s shop, but he simply quickened his pace.

“So sweet how he pretends not to hear,” another voice chimed in.

“Perhaps he’s just too stupid to know what we’re saying,” said a third.

He clinched his fists a little tighter around his books. Kili always ignored the stupid things they said to him (though he’d confided in Ori that ignoring it didn’t make the words hurt less), so he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He was almost out of the alleyway, anyhow, and they wouldn’t dare taunt him in the marketplace, not after Fili had so fully throttled Clach some years back.

Nearly there. Nearly safe and the teasing will stop. For today, at least.

A hand grasped him roughly by the hood of his cloak and yanked him backward. Where he had just seen the bustling salvation of the marketplace was replaced with the almost mockingly sunny sky, along with four sneering faces that he thinks he actually hates. Clach, his brother Clavin, Baeddan, and Mogue are all sneering down at him, and for a second he thinks that he must be as stupid as they’re saying, because he set himself up, walking through the alleyway like that. He starts to shout out for help, but Baeddan kicks him hard in the jaw before Clavin yanks him up by his collar and slams him against the unrelenting stone wall at the back of Bofur’s shop (so mockingly close).

“Is there something wrong with you ears, boy?” Clavin sneers.

‘Just didn’t hear anything worthwhile,’ his mind snaps back, while his mouth wisely stays shut.

Clavin shakes him, hard, and his vision blurs when his head smacks against the stone before he rights himself. “Guess you are just stupid.” He should be surprised when the older dwarrow pulls his arm back and punches him hard across his left cheek, but he’s genuinely not. He is surprised when Clavin abruptly releases him, and he sinks down to the ground, dizzy from the hit.

“Leave off!” Kili shouts, and Ori can’t describe how thankful he feels in that exact moment. He knows he should be embarrassed – Kili is younger and smaller than him, and a proper dwarrow would never be so weak as to need saving from him – but he can’t bother himself to be. The world spins violently for a moment when he tries to stand, and the sound of blood rushing through his ears nearly deafens him. He uses the wall like a lifeline, and when he finally rights himself his stomach sinks into his boots.

Somehow they’ve gotten Kili on the ground, and they’re kicking him – all four of them! – and he can barely see his friend at all. A distinctive crack and the sound of Kili crying out in obvious pain spurs him from his stupor into action, and he runs for the marketplace before any of them have even noticed he’s standing. He finds Bofur and his cousin Bifur immediately as he whirls around the corner of the shop, causing both of them to look up in alarm. He doesn’t get any words out – they must have seen his stricken face, and he can taste blood in his mouth – before they are both rushing at him. All he manages to do is point to the alleyway as his vision swims again. He moves to follow them, but a wave of nausea crashes over him, and he finds himself collapsed on the ground, dry heaving into the dirt instead. 

It feels like an eternity and just one second have passed at the same time when Bifur is pulling him back to his feet while Bofur cradles a very bloody Kili against his chest. They start to make for the House of Healing, but Ori’s stomach lurches at the sight of his friend in such a state because of him and everything fades to black.

\-----

“Hold him down, Bofur,” Oin murmurs softly. “This is going to hurt.”

He opens his eyes to see Kili sprawled on one of the beds in the houses of healing, and belatedly realizes that he is laid out as well. His head swims violently as he sits up, whether from the sudden movement or from the sight of Kili’s obviously broken arm, he isn’t sure. Oin spares him a small glance and a reassuring smile when he sees that he’s awake.

“I’ve sent Bifur to fetch one of your brothers,” he offers comfortingly. “And Mister Thorin. You just lie still for a while and rest. You’ve got a nasty nock to the head, laddie.”

Ori frowns, his hand coming up to feel the hot swelling along his cheek. “Kili?” he calls.

“M’fine,” his friend answers in response, sounding anything but. He can’t see his face for where Bofur is sitting, but he would bet his books that he’s crying (not that Ori would blame him, one bit, as his eyes once again focus on the bone sticking through his skin). He turns his head and closes his eyes as the urge to vomit seizes at him again.

“Here, lad,” Bofur says as he turns back to Kili, his voice tight. “Bite on this, not your lip.” His tone is gentle and soothing, meant to be the calm before the storm. “We’ll get you cleaned up and have the bone reset in no time at all, you’ll see. It’ll only hurt for a bit.”

Kili sucks in a sharp breath, and Ori can only imagine Oin scrubbing at the wound with his stinging antiseptics, for he doesn’t dare open his eyes again. He almost wants to crawl over to the other bed, to hold Kili’s hand tight and offer him some reassurance, but every small movement his head makes feels as though it’s being split against an anvil, so he stays where he is. The smell of the antiseptic makes him want to be sick, so he lets himself fall back against the pillow.

“Almost done, laddie,” Oin soothes when Kili lets out a strangled cry. “Can’t stitch you up with any dirt and filth inside.”

The front door slams open before Thorin is calling out. “Oin!”

“Back room on the left,” Bofur shouts in response, and Ori cracks an eye open to see that Oin is diligently scrubbing at Kili’s wound, the bone still out of place. His vision swims wildly.

Thorin enters with all the grace of a wild boar, so breathless that it’s obvious he ran straight here. Ori is a little disappointed that it’s not one of his own brothers; he’d be quite contented to curl up against Dori’s side and not move for a few weeks, or listen to Nori threaten each and every one of those wretched, stupid boys. Oh, Dori was going to be such a mess over this. He always warned him about walking through the alleyways, with Kili or not, and Ori was sure he would never hear the end of it.

When Thorin arrives, he takes Bofur’s place by Kili’s head, and the toymaker blissfully moves to block his view of Kili’s arm. He manages to catch a glimpse at how ashen the lad’s face is, and guilt surges through him. “I’m sorry, Kili,” he mumbles out.

Thorin’s head snaps around as if focusing on him for the first time, and Ori can literally see the puzzle pieces clicking together in his head. “Bifur didn’t mention…” he shakes his head, as if clearing it. “Are you all right, lad?”

Ori starts to answer, but a strangled whimper from Kili draws everyone’s attention away from him. He is glad for it; he admires Thorin, admires what he has done for their people, but the should-be king is often imposing and honestly a little terrifying, and he hates to have that intensity focused on him, even in such a caring capacity.

“All right, Kili,” Oin murmurs softly. “All clean. Now, on the count of three, I’m going to set the bone back in place, okay?” His voice is calm and reassuring and even Ori finds himself relaxing under the gentle tone. “It’s going to hurt, quite a lot. I’m sorry.”

“No pain killers,” Thorin all but whisperers as Kili whines pitifully. “They make him sick.”

“They make him sick,” Oin says at the same moment. “I know, Thorin. Trust me; I’ve got your boy.” Thorin’s shoulders slump a bit, but he sees him nod. “On the count of three, laddie.”

Ori squeezes his eyes shut, presses his hands firmly against his ears, not wanting to hear that sickening crack again.

It doesn’t block out the sound when Kili screams.

\-----

Thorin runs a hand through the boy’s tangled hair, trying desperately to distract him from what is about to happen. He’d cringed at the sight of Kili’s arm; it was one of the worst breaks he had ever seen, and he’s seen plenty in his lifetime. He settles on cupping the right side of the boy’s face (it’s less bruised than the left, which is already covered in mottled purple) and turning his face away from his mangled arm. He uses his other hand to press down on the lad’s shoulder, noting how Bofur has moved to pin his legs down as well. His heart positively breaks when Kili lets out the barest whimper, fear obvious in his wide brown eyes. He presses their foreheads together to offer comfort, and he feels Kili’s opposite hand tangle in his sleeve.

“I’m right here, little one,” he murmurs quietly.

“One,” Oin all but whispers as he adjusts his grip on the lad’s arm. Kili squeezes his eyes shut and bites down hard on the leather between his teeth.

“Relax,” Thorin eases gently, and Kili does as he asked (as best as he can) and releases a shaking breath.

“Two,” Oin says softly once the tension in the boy’s shoulders has lessened, before gripping the arm hard and snapping the bone back into place with a horrific sound that makes even Thorin want to vomit.

Kili screams, and it’s such an agonized, wretched sound that tears at Thorin, brings him right back to the day he lost his baby brother, but he quickly swallows those feelings down, focuses on calming the lad. He whispers every soft word of encouragement he knows against Kili’s sweaty temple, focuses on holding him still each time he tries to pull away from Oin’s grasp. He’s amazed that he’s still even conscious as he chances a glance up to see their healer quickly stitching up the wound. The boy’s cries have quieted substantially, but he’s slipped into a mantra of “please” and “stop” and “I’m sorry” through hiccupping, sobbing breaths as his hand clenches and unclenches against Thorin’s arm.

“You’re being so brave, my boy,” he murmurs encouragingly. “So, so brave. Just a little more.”

“Please,” Kili whines out one last time, and Thorin feels his resolve start to waver and he briefly considers telling Oin to stop. But the lad’s eyelids flutter and his body sags, hand dropping heavily from Thorin’s sleeve as the intensity of his ordeal and the pain lure him into unconsciousness.

“Bofur, fetch me the splints,” Oin demands as soon as Kili falls limp, and the two of them set about bandaging the lad’s arm in a way that will limit his mobility and allow the arm to heal properly.

Thorin keeps his forehead pressed to Kili’s, keeps his hand carding through the boy’s hair as he tries to calm his breathing. He hates to see his boys hurt, even when they boasted of nothing more than scrapes and bruises. He had been a wreck the first time Fili had gotten injured during a sparring lesson – Dwalin had charged him a bit too hard, and the dwarfling had wound up with a sprained wrist and a concussion – because he hadn’t known how to care for such things with little dwarrows. Neither of them has ever been hurt like this, and he desperately needed to know what had happened to put his youngest in such a state. Bifur had simply rushed into his meeting with the town’s governor, saying that Kili had been hurt, and he’d immediately come running.

“What in Durin’s name happened to you, lad?” Dori practically shouts from the doorway. “I’ve told you a thousand times to never go through that alleyway!” Thorin lifts his head up to give him a nod in greeting, and he notes how all the color has drained from the dwarf’s face. He immediately rushes to his brother’s bedside and starts mothering and coddling the lad intensely. Ori seems to welcome it, to draw comfort in the affection, and Thorin suddenly feels like he is intruding on something very private, so he turns his gaze back to his nephew.

“I’m sorry! Dori, I’m so, so sorry!” Ori sobs out. “I was just excited about the books Mister Balin gave me and I wanted to show you so I took the shortcut. They must’ve seen me alone and followed me.”

“Clach and his idiotic band of hoodlums,” Bofur clarified quietly when Ori pressed his face against his brother’s neck and cried. “I’d reckon they’d cornered Ori, and Kili must’ve seen what was going on and went after them. Had all four of them on him when we got there to help, but they scattered like cockroaches as soon as we came round.”

Thorin clinched his jaw in frustration. He would very much like to find and dismember each and every one of those lads for their offenses against his line, regardless of the fact that they were still but children.

Eventually, Ori calmed enough to explain what had happened in greater detail. Thorin couldn’t help the pride that welled up in him at his nephew’s actions; he had been foolish, trying to take on four older dwarrows alone, but Kili was steadfastly loyal, and he stood up for the things he believed in, for the people he believed in. He was still young and reckless, yet he knew those attributes would continue to grow in his youngest sister-son, and he was grateful for it.

While Ori had explained, Oin had finished tending to Kili’s other injuries – aside from a likely concussion and a few cracked ribs, everything else was just bruising – and propped him up comfortably with some pillows, elevating his arm to keep it above his heart and prevent additional swelling. Kili woke just once, asking for his brother and his uncle, before Oin gave him a sleeping draught that knocked him back out again.

“I’d like to keep them both here for the night, Kili for a few days after” Oin explained. “You are welcome to stay with them if you would like,” he adds when he notices how stricken Dori looks. “We’ll get Ori moved to another room now that they’re both stable.”

“I’d imagine Fili will want to stay as well,” Thorin admits as he brushes some of Kili’s sweaty fringe away from his forehead.

As if he had called for the lad, Fili slips through the door, his face pale a drawn tight in concern. Bofur had gone to fetch him from the forge (he and Dwalin had only just started training him in weapons making) as soon as they’d finished splinting Kili’s arm, and he was surprised it had taken the lad so long to arrive. Thorin feels his heart clinch when he sees Fili’s face fall, clearly distraught over seeing his brother so pale and still.

“Kee,” he mumbles out, though he hesitates by the door.

Thorin extends a hand out to usher him to his brother’s bedside, but Fili shakes his head. He is drawing deep, gasping breaths, and he’s gone nearly as pale as his brother, and Thorin understands just what is happening to the lad. He’s on his feet and pulling Fili back outside, back into the open air, rushing past a bewildered Dwalin, before his brain fully processes what he is doing.

“Fili,” he calls as his hands grip the lad’s shoulders tightly. “Look at me, Fili, and breathe.”

Fili shakes his head again and almost wrenches himself free of Thorin’s grasp. “I will kill them,” he growls out, and Thorin almost wants to let him, but he will keep Fili’s hands free from bloodshed for as long as he can manage it.

He shakes him, hard. “You will do no such thing,” he commands, hoping that he will be able to calm him down. He recognizes the blind rage that Fili is slipping into, knows it because he has felt it so many times before himself.

“I will, Uncle,” Fili seethes. “You won’t be able to stop me.” He’s shaking with anger now, so Thorin releases his shoulders and presses their foreheads together.

“Look at me,” he demands as his hands firmly grip the lad’s face. “Fili, please.” Finally, finally blue eyes focus on his, and he tuts quietly at the sheen of tears he sees there. “Sweet Fili,” he soothes. “Just breathe.”

“How can you not want to hurt them? To make them pay?” he chokes out, shoulders shaking heavily with the force of his anger and grief. “They hurt him, Uncle. They beat him; they could have killed him if Ori hadn’t gone for help!”

“I do want them to pay, Fili,” Thorin confesses. “And they will, just not by your hands. You mustn’t…you can’t…” He swallows the lump that has lodged itself in his throat, trying to will his thoughts into words. “You do not know the heavy burden you would bear if you did this.”

“I don’t care!” Fili wails. “I don’t care, Uncle. I’d kill them a thousand times if it meant keeping Kili safe!”

“Shhh,” Thorin murmurs softly as he lets his hands drop back to the lad’s shoulders. “I know you would. I know, but you can’t. We must follow the laws of our land, Fili, and believe me, I will make sure those idiot boys will pay the severest penalty possible, but you cannot take this into your own hands.”

Fili chokes out a sob, his careful hold on his emotions finally unraveling as he lets his head fall to his uncle’s shoulder. Thorin immediately wraps his arms around him, holds him close while he cries out all of his hurt and frustration and anger. He holds him tight for a long while, hands rubbing soothing patterns along his back and arms.

“It will be alright, Fili,” he soothes once the lad’s sobs have quieted. “Your brother is strong; he will persevere.”

He feels Fili nod against his chest. “Can I…can I see…”

Thorin presses a quick kiss to his temple before he releases him. “Of course you can, lad. Of course. Oin has even said that you may stay the night here with him if you wish.”

Fili breathes out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I…I don’t know what I would have done…”

He offers the lad a small smile as he reaches up to brush the lingering tears from his cheeks. “Come on then,” he murmurs. “Even though he sleeps I know it would comfort Kili greatly to have you near.” He ushers the lad back into the house, greeting Oin with a polite nod.

“He’s awake again, but not making much sense,” he supplied. “Never seen a boy stay awake through a sleeping draught; I’ll have to come up with something stronger for him, one day.”

Fili rushed ahead to be with his brother, but Thorin held back for a moment.

“He will make a full recovery, my friend,” he murmured. “Though I expect he’ll be out of sword fighting practice for a while. The arm should heal well enough, if he keeps it still.” Thorin snorted out a bit of laughter at that. Getting Smaug out of Erebor would be easier than stopping Kili’s squirming. “I’ll check it regularly to make sure it’s still in place, in any case.”

“What about his archery?” he asks quietly. Kili was a natural talent with a bow, and while it was a less-than traditional weapon for a dwarf, it was still a valuable skill to learn, despite what many other dwarrows might think.

Oin scoffed lightly. “You’re still encouraging that in him?” Thorin merely shrugged, and did not offer any additional explanation. “It’ll be a while before he can pull without any pain, and I would keep him away from it until the arm is fully healed.”

He nodded. “Thank you, my friend,” he murmured sincerely. “I owe you greatly for this one.”

Oin waved him off. “Hush up, would you? And go be with your boys.”

Thorin smiled softly and did as he was told.

\-----

Thorin sighed heavily as he returned to the House of Healing some hours later. He had only left at Dwalin’s insistence that he wash up and find something to eat, and had decided to return to the Town Hall to finish his meeting with the governor. They had been discussing the plans for a set of great halls carved into the mountains, for a more permanent city, one reminiscent of Erebor and Moria, though much less grand. He’d felt it necessary to explain his sudden departure, and to urge the governor to impose the highest punishments on the lad’s responsible.

Oin pulls him aside before he makes it back to Kili’s room, a concerned frown on his face.

“He’s running a fever, Thorin,” he whispers urgently. “I’ve checked the wound but there are no signs of infection. I’ve given him a draught to work any toxins out of his body, but it hasn’t had a chance to take effect yet” He frowns slightly. “He’s awake but he’s not very…coherent. Keeps babbling about things that don’t make any sense. Fili is with him.”

Thorin doesn’t temper the sigh that escapes him. He had hoped that all Kili would need was a few weeks of rest to heal his broken arm, but it looked like he was facing a much tougher battle. He nods once, and bids Oin his thanks, before walking back into the room, weariness pressing heavily upon his shoulders.

Fili sits on the bed with Kili’s back nestled to his chest; arms wrapped carefully around his middle, giving the splinted limb strapped to his chest a wide berth. Kili is deathly pale; the stark contrast between his dark hair and pallid skin makes him look even younger, smaller than Thorin had thought possible. His sweating forehead is pressed against Fili’s cheek, and he can see the lad’s lips moving, though he is too far away to hear his words. Fili flashes him a tired smile as he enters, before murmuring something softly to Kili and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“And how are you feeling, my boy?” Thorin asks softly, brushing some of the sweaty strands of hair back from the lad’s face with utmost care. He frowns when he sees that the lad’s left eye is swollen shut, and the smattering of purple along his face has turned nearly black. He quickly swallows the swell of emotion that wells up inside of him – Kili is clearly not well, and Fili is clearly worried, and it would not do for either of them to see him distraught.

Kili doesn’t react to his touch or his words, just continues whispering. “I don’t think he can hear us,” Fili murmurs sadly. “Mister Oin thinks he is delirious from the fever.” 

Thorin only catches a few of Kili’s utterings, and does not find any meaning in them. “What is he talking about? Can you tell?”

“He’s telling me about his Da,” his eldest nephew replies before shifting the boy in his arms.

Thorin raises an eyebrow in surprise. “But he’s never met –“

“He’s talking about you,” Fili clarifies, his expression carefully blank.

He doesn’t quite know what to think. He has never, never tried to take the place of their father. He makes sure to tell them tales of the man’s bravery and kindness whenever he can; he has tried to make sure that his boys knew and respected their parents, knew who they were, what they had done for them, how they had loved them. Yet, there is a part of him that feels elated that Kili holds him in such high regard, that Kili treasures him as all dwarflings should treasure their father. 

A swift glance to Fili’s face shows him that his heir is upset at the possibility of either of them forgetting their father, and that quickly squashes the happiness he let himself feel. He is not their father, no matter how much he fathers them, and he never will be.

“He is delirious,” he finally murmurs in response. “He knows not what he speaks.”

Fili nods, but chews on his lip thoughtfully. “I just wish…I just wish he had gotten to know Da,” he mumbles. “They’re so alike; Da would have loved him.”

“He would have,” Thorin agrees as he sits down gingerly on the side of the bed. “You should sleep, Fili. I can watch over him for a while.” Fili’s grip on his brother tightens almost imperceptibly, clearly reluctant to let him go.

Kili screams in pain.

Fili’s hands fly back as though he has been burned, and Thorin is on his feet instantly, hands cupping the boy’s cheeks and trying to get the lad to focus, to let him know what hurts. He is so hot, much too hot, and he feels a solid lead weight settle in his stomach. Something is dreadfully, terribly wrong with his youngest, and he has never felt so helpless, in all the lad’s life.

Oin barges into the room in an instant, urging Fili off the bed as he helps Thorin to lay Kili down. Kili is drawing rapid, gasping breaths, tears streaming freely from his unblemished eye, good hand desperately grasping for purchase as he tries to curl into himself.

“I’m sorry!” Fili is stammering out, hands grasping his chest. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry; it was just a little hug…I didn’t even touch his arm. I didn’t…”

“It’s alright, Fili,” Thorin calls to him as he and Oin work to pull the lad’s bandaged arm away from his chest. Kili is squirming and struggling against them, breath still coming in ragged gasps mixed with pained little cries. Thorin focuses on restraining him and laying him flat, desperate to keep his arm unharmed, as Oin cuts the bandages around his middle.

Aerona, Gloin’s wife and Oin’s sister in law, bustles in, arms laden with bandages and other tools the healer might need. She gives Fili and Thorin both a soft, sad smile, before placing the supplies on the bedside table and assisting Oin with his task.

“Damn it,” Oin growls out once the bandages are clear, and Thorin’s stomach lurches at the severe bruising covering the lad’s torso. He hadn’t remembered it looking so bad before. Oin presses lightly against the lower right side of the lad’s belly, and Kili screams. “It’s his appendix. It has to come out. It’s probably already burst.”

“You mean he needs surgery?” comes Fili’s panicked cry from behind him

Aerona starts rummaging through the supply bag, finally producing a small vile of putrid green elixir that she Hands to Thorin. “Have him drink this,” she instructs, even though Thorin is already pulling the lid loose. “Make sure he drinks it all.”

He presses the vial to the lad’s lips, wincing at the strong smell that comes from it, knowing from personal experience that this particular draught, one designed to knock dwarrows out for hours, sometimes days, for surgical purposes, is particularly foul. Kili retches with the first drops that make it into his throat, so he quickly pours the rest of it into the lad’s mouth and presses his hand over the boy’s lips to make him swallow.

“I’m sorry, Kili,” he murmurs against the boy’s temple. “I’m sorry, lad, this will help. This will help make it all better.”

It is only a matter of seconds before the draught begins to take effect, and Kili’s breathing evens out before he falls limp against the bed for the second time that day.

“What did you do?” Fili nearly shrieks, tears streaming down his cheeks. “What did you do to him?”

Oin gives Thorin a pointed glare. “Out,” he demands. “The both of you. Aerona will fetch you when we are done here.”

Thorin nods, his expression grim. “We shall be with Dwalin and Balin,” he supplies. Fili starts to protest, so Thorin grabs his arm and hauls him away from the room. They make it as far as the front room before Fili wrenches himself free.

“No!” Fili screams as he grabs his arm to pull him away. “I can’t leave him, Uncle! Let me go!”

“You’ll do no good to him in there,” Thorin snaps, wincing when he feels the telltale pinprick of tears behind his eyes, He cannot let Fili see him cry. He cannot let him know how scared he truly is. “We have to leave Oin to his task. He is in good hands, Fili. He will be fine.” His voice breaks on the last word, and he feels a damning tear slide down his cheek.

“Uncle,” Fili breathes, disbelieving. He reaches a hand up to brush the dampness away from his cheek, but all it does is break the careful dam Thorin has built up around his emotions before he is crying just as hard as Fili is. He grabs his heir and pulls him close, tucking his head under his chin in a way he hasn’t done for years.

“I am scared,” he admits, his face pressed into the curtain of his nephew’s hair. “I am so, so scared, Fili, but we must have faith. Oin will do everything he can for Kili – everything – but we must keep faith that he will pull through.” He feels Fili nod against his chest. “It’s all we can do, lad.”

It is a long while before either of them is able to gather themselves. Thorin manages to first, and he spends a good deal of time scrubbing at his face in an attempt to rid it of the tear tracks that he knows linger there. Fili is slumped exhaustedly against him, and he finally summons up the will power to maneuver them to Dwalin and Balin’s nearby home.

“Come, Fili,” he urges when the lad is reluctant to leave. “We must wait, and it is better to do that with friends than alone.”

He doesn’t respond, just numbly follows behind Thorin, and seeing Fili so despondent only unsettles him further. He cannot let him lose Kili. The pain of loosing Frerin is always fresh in his heart, and he never wants Fili to feel that crushing sense of loss, to know that deep grief that never truly fades away.

“What has happened?” Balin asks immediately when he answers the door, he ushers them inside with a concerned glance at Fili. He all but drags the dwarfling to a chair and settles him into it, but still Fili makes no move to respond. “Dwalin told me of the brawl, but…”

“Kili needed surgery,” Thorin explains, fatigue evident in his voice. “Oin is working on him now.”

Balin furrows his brow, confused. “But why would he…”

“His appendix, he said. It needed to come out.”

Balin tuts quietly under his breath. “Well, at least that is a fairly regular procedure for him,” he offers. “I’ll fetch you some tea. Are you hungry, laddie?” he asks, looking to Fili, who numbly shakes his head.

“Little late for visitors,” Dwalin grumbles from the hall before emerging in the front room. He is halfway to smiling when he sees just who their visitors are, but it melts into a concerned from when he takes in just how stricken Thorin looks. His gaze wanders to where Fili is slumped in the armchair, and all of the color drains from his face.

“Thorin?” he asks, a small note of trepidation in his voice.

He walks past his friend, gesturing to the nearby study door before stepping inside. Dwalin follows him, but not before casting another wary glance back at Fili, who continues to stare at nothing.

“I could…we could loose him,” he grinds out as soon as he hears the quiet snick of the door falling closed.

Dwalin’s head snaps up. “Kili?” he asks, voice laced with concern. “He seemed all right when I visited with him earlier. Little confused and disoriented, but that’s just the concussion, yea?”

Thorin shakes his head. “He needed…Oin thinks his appendix may have burst,” he murmurs quietly. “His fever was so high, and he’s in so much pain, Dwalin. I…” He huffs out a heavy breath. “I fear I’ve failed him…I can’t…I can’t loose him.” The damned tears start falling again, despite how hard he fights to keep them in. He’s not embarrassed to cry in front of Dwalin – they’ve been friends since they were children, they’ve seen the other cry countless times before – but he still feels ashamed that he wasn’t able to protect the lad, and anger at the ones who have hurt him.

Dwalin’s hand wraps around the back of his neck before he presses their foreheads together in a dwarven gesture of comfort. He does not offer any advice, or any words of solace. He knows Thorin well enough to know that they will do no good, that nothing will do him any good other than Kili rambunctiously running about once more. When he finally composes himself well enough to pull away, he is surprised to see the glimmer of unshed tears in the warrior’s eyes.

“We’ve been a right strange family since you took those boys in,” he explains, and Thorin has to chuckle lightly at that. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to get as far as he had with the boys without Dwalin and Balin’s help; they had been with him every step of the way, had helped him more than he could ever repay them for. “I’ll kill those lads if anything happens to him.”

Thorin sighs. “And I would not stop you,” he admits. He hates that he is wishing violence upon children, since there are so, so few dwarflings these days, but Kili is half of his whole world, and there wouldn’t be a force on Middle Earth strong enough to stop his wrath.

Dwalin must notice the shadow that falls across his face, for he gently grabs his arm to lead him back into the sitting room. “Come,” he murmurs. “Fili shouldn’t be left alone, and it does us no good to dwell on dark things. Now is the time to pray, to keep faith in our little lad. Aule knows he’s too stubborn to go without a fight.”

Thorin gives him a small, grateful smile before heading back out. He flops down on the settee opposite of the two armchairs that Balin and Fili currently occupy, feeling the weariness of the day pressing down on him. Fili seems to perk up at his arrival, and he pulls himself up from the armchair before crawling into Thorin’s lap, tucking his head under his uncle’s chin in a way he hasn’t since he was very small.

The four of them fall into a heavy silence as they wait.

\-----

It has been two whole days since Aerona came to fetch them in the middle of the night, explaining that the procedure had gone well and that Kili was resting. Oin had gotten to the appendix just in time, she’d said; had it been left to fester any longer it surely would have burst, and Kili’s life would have been in absolute peril.

As it was, Kili still slept, and Thorin found himself becoming more and more anxious with each second that passed as Kili did not wake. There had been instances, rare ones, where patients never woke from the powerful sleeping draught, and their bodies wasted away without food and water until they were no more. He squeezed his eyes shut to will himself away from his negative thoughts; he had stressed to Fili that they must keep faith, and it would do neither of his nephews any good to let himself fall into despair now.

He sighs as he strokes a hand along Kili’s blessedly cool brow. “Come on now, little one,” he whispers quietly, not wanting to wake Fili, as he had fallen asleep in the chair at his brother’s bedside, clutching his little brother’s hand. “I’m starting to miss your prattling on about nonsense.”

He lets his eyes rove over the boy’s too-pale face, frowning at how the bruises have darkened to a sickening purple-black, with some of them yellowing at the edges. He knows he has failed him, knows how disappointed Dis would be in him. He is supposed to be their protector; they’re just boys, barely a quarter of the way to their majority, no matter how much he lets himself think otherwise. Fili acts with an air of maturity, and Kili is as insightful as any dwarrow he has known, but that does not mean they are grown. Kili, who barely reaches his waist, and Fili, who is all awkward long limbs in his adolescence. They are but boys – his boys, but still boys nonetheless.

His heart twists in his chest. He longs for Erebor, longs to reclaim their homeland, but he cannot bring the lads until they are grown, and he doubts he would be able to leave them behind. He sighs again as he lets his hand card through the lad’s hair, fingers running over the small braids Fili had crafted just hours earlier. It’s no use fretting over Erebor now, not with the dragon still rampaging about.

Kili’s brow furrows as he lets out the tiniest whimper, and Thorin’s heart stops.

“Kili?” he murmurs, thumb brushing along his less-bruised cheek. The lad whines again as his eyelids flicker. “Fili,” he calls. His eldest nephew just grunts from his chair, eyes staying firmly shut. “Fili!” he shouts again, just as Kili’s eyes blink open, before quickly falling shut as he cries out once more.

“What, Uncle?” Fili grumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Kili squeezes at his hand, and he leaps to his feet. “Kili!” he calls out, relief and happiness evident in his voice.

“I need you to fetch Oin for me, lad,” Thorin explains quietly, attention focused on Kili’s waking form. Fili nods and pulls his hand free from his brother’s and immediately blots for the door.

Kili whines and reaches back for him, but he is already gone. “Fee,” he rasps out, his voice a pitiful wreck.

“He’ll be right back, dear heart,” he whispers as he gently pulls the lad up into a sitting position, mindful of the broken arm strapped to his chest and the stiches in his abdomen.

“Stop,” Kili mumbles, trying to push at him with his free hand. “Hurts.”

“Shhh, lad, it’s all right,” he soothes as he props the pillows up behind the lad. “Mister Oin will be here, quick as he can.” He frowns at the tears clinging to Kili’s lashes as he blinks his eyes open. “My boy,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’m sorry, Kili.”

“You’re awake, you’re awake!” Oin calls out cheerfully once he enters the room. “Gave us a right good scare, laddie. It is good to see you up.”

“Doesn’t feel good,” he mutters as he sinks back against his pillows. Fili crawls up onto the bed beside Thorin, nearly in his lap as he tries to get closer to his brother.

Oin chuckles lightly as he brings a mug of lukewarm tea to Kili’s lips. “I suppose it doesn’t,” he agrees. “Slowly lad, I’m sure you’re parched, but if you drink too much you’ll be sick.”

Thorin wraps an arm around Fili when he notices the happy smile tugging at his heir’s lips. Kili is awake, grumpy and sore and tired, but awake and talking and alive, and he can’t help the indescribable joy he feels at the thought. It is a small task to keep Fili occupied while Oin checks Kili out with poking and prodding fingers, as he fidgets and tries to get closer to Kili every time the lad lets out a sound of pain, but soon enough Oin is flashing them a warm smile.

“Now then, Thorin,” he addresses as he stands and Fili all but clambers over him to Kili’s side. “Keep having him drink the tea, bit by bit. I’ve put some herbs in that should help with the pain, but shouldn’t make him sick. Aerona’s made some broth for him, when he feels up to eating, but keep it slow.” He smiles again. “He’ll be just fine in a few weeks, my friend, don’t you worry.”

Thorin knows he has a dopey smile on his face as he grabs the healer and pulls him into an embrace, but he can’t be bothered to care. “Thank you, Oin,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “I will never be able to repay you for this kindness.”

Oin sighs. “Thorin, you gave us a new home after Erebor fell,” he replies lightly. “It is I who should repay you.”

He doesn’t quite know what to say to that, so he releases the healer and watches as he leaves their family in private.

\-----

Kili’s eyes are wide and fearful as he watches Oin work. He winces as the healer removes the bandages and splint from his tender arm, lets out a soft cry of pain that has Fili grabbing his free hand and murmuring soft words of encouragement. Oin had decided that the wound from where his bone had broken through the skin has healed enough to plaster the arm. He works quietly, placing a thick bandage across the still healing cut before reaching for the bandages soaking in the plaster.

“What’s that for?” Kili asks, eyes flickering behind him to look at his uncle. He’s seated in Thorin’s lap, the elder dwarf’s arms wrapped loosely around his middle. “Will that hurt?” he asks as he turns his gaze to Oin.

“Not a bit,” Oin says with a smile. “Though I’ll need your uncle to hold your arm up and very, very still. If anything hurts, it’ll be that.”

Kili swallows audibly as Thorin obediently lifts the injured arm. It’s quite bruised and rather swollen, still, but if Oin think it is time for plaster, then it must be time for plaster. Fili strokes his thumb along the back of his hand.

“Relax, Kee,” he murmurs. “It’ll be fine.” Kili sucks in a deep breath and nods, but when he blinks a few tears slide down his cheeks, that Fili immediately wipes away.

Oin is true to his word, and he works quickly to wrap the plastered bandages around the wound, never once jostling the lad’s arm or causing him pain. Thorin holds his arm steady as the plaster dries, and Kili finally relaxes back against his uncle’s chest.

“Not so bad, was it?” Thorin murmurs in his ear once Oin declares the plaster to be dry, and he sets the lad’s arm back down on his lap before pressing a kiss to the lad’s less-bruised cheek.

“And the plaster will keep your arm still much better than the split would have,” Oin explains. “Though you must be very careful not to move it more than you have to.”

Kili nods obediently as he eyes the cast warily. “I won’t,” he promises.

“Come on then, Fili,” Dwalin calls from where he stood leaned against the doorframe. “Your brother is just fine; it’s back to the forge with you.”

Fili frowns, but he pulls himself up from the chair anyway. “I’ll be back soon, Kee,” he whispers before ruffling the lad’s hair and trotting off after Dwalin. Oin also politely excuses himself, shutting the door tightly behind him as he leaves.

Kili shifts against his chest, curls back up against him, while being mindful of his arm and the stiches in his abdomen. Thorin gently runs a hand through his hair; pulls loose the knots that have tangled in it. “M’tired, Da,” he murmurs softly, and Thorin’s heart is immediately in his throat.

He shift the lad gently, turns him around so he is facing him, before cupping his face and running a thumb along his cheekbone as he tips the lad’s face up to look at him. “Kili,” he murmurs. “Sweet little Kili. I’m not your Da.”

Kili frowns at him. “But you take care of me,” he explains. “You act like a Da, to me and to Fee.”

“But you had a Da,” he explains. “And your Da was brave, and loyal, and he loved you, Kili. Even when you were but a babe in your mother’s stomach, he loved you.”

“But I don’t know him!” he whines, frustrated. “I know you. I want you to be my Da.”

Thorin sighs as he uses him thumb to brush away the tears that have started. “I can’t be your Da,” he murmurs. “I can’t replace him.”

Kili draws in a shuddering breath. “You don’t want to be my Da,” he mumbles despondently.

Thorin draws him close, wraps his arms around him and strokes his back gently. “I do, Kili,” he whispers against his hair. “I love you, so much, dear heart. You know that I do.”

“Then why can’t you just be my Da?” he whimpers. Thorin’s heart breaks at the sound of the lad’s tears, and he presses a tender kiss to the crown of the lad’s head.

“Because you’ve already got one,” he explains. “You’ve a wonderful Da, and he is waiting for you. Do you remember what we talked about? About what happens when dwarrows are called away?” Kili nods against his chest as he sniffles quietly. “Your Da has been waiting for you, and he watches over you even now. You will meet him one day; you will know him one day. I promise.”

Kili nods again, his sobs dissolving into soft hiccups. “It’s not fair,” he whimpers quietly. “Fili got to know Da and I didn’t.”

Thorin tightens his arms around him, not enough to hurt him, but enough to comfort him. “I know. I know it’s not fair, but trust me when I tell you that your Da loved you so very much, Kili.” He presses another kiss to the lad’s curls. “I have loved you and raised you from the moment you were born, but I am still just your uncle. I will always be your uncle.”

Kili stays quiet for a while, good hand kneading the fabric of his tunic between his fingers. For a moment he thinks the lad has fallen asleep, when Kili murmurs, “I love you, Uncle.”

The lad’s breathing evens out in sleep, but still Thorin holds him.

\-----

He frowns as Balin finally ushers him out of the house. He hates being scolded, especially when it really wasn’t his fault that ancient Dwarven history was so boring in the first place. At least Uncle made things interesting in his stories.

He frowns when he sees Clach and his idiot friends duck into the alleyway that leads to the marketplace. It’s the way that he and Ori usually take after their lessons when they plan to go and see Bofur or to watch Fili’s sparring lessons. His heart sinks when he realizes that they must be trying to corner his friend, so he breaks into a run to follow after them.

Sure enough, they have Ori slammed up against the wall. He gets there just in time to see Clavin shove his fist into Ori’s face, and he grabs the older dwarf to pull him off, wincing when Ori slumps to the ground.

He dodges the first punch easily enough; he is smaller than Clavin and can use that to his advantage. He should have, however, considered the fact that there were four of them and only one of him, he realizes as Baeddan grabs him from behind and pins his arms to his sides.

“You little shit,” Clach snarls. “You stupid little waste of space.”

“Your dear brother isn’t here to save you this time,” Mogue grumbles. “Is he, little elfling?”

Kili (unwisely) responds by spitting in his face, and all hell breaks loose.

Mogue punches him a number of times before Baeddan tosses him down to the ground. His vision is swimming wildly, and everything hurts. Someone’s foot connects with his face, and he curls into himself, draws his arms up to his face to protect it. The kicks keep coming, hard and fast and from all directions. He was stupid, so, so stupid to follow after them alone. He should have grabbed Balin, should have grabbed anyone instead of chasing after them on his own. He’d just wanted to protect Ori. Ori, who was always kind to him and sparred with him and listened to his stupid stories.

Someone kicks at his face, hard, and he screams in pain as he hears and sees the bone in his arm snap. His vision whites out from the pain, he goes numb all over for just a second. When he comes back to himself, they are still kicking him, and he’s suddenly aware of the fact that he’s screaming and begging for them to stop.

He’s going to die; he knows it. Those boys are going to kill him, and Fili is at the forge with Dwalin, and Thorin is meeting with the governor, and Ori is passed out on the ground. There is no one who can come and save him; not this time

Suddenly, the kicks stop, and through his hazy vision he sees four pairs of feet scrambling away. Someone reaches for his head, but he lurches back as soon as the fingers brush against his scalp, crying out in pain as his body twists painfully. Everything hurts, everything, and he just wants it to stop.

“Oh, laddie,” someone murmurs soothingly from above him. He can’t tell who it is, but he knows that voice, knows that they are a safe person, and he lets himself relax just slightly. “Come on, come on, Kili. Let’s get you up.”

He’s pulled into familiar arms before everything goes black.

He screams when he wakes, and Fili is there in an instant, smoothing sweat-soaked fringe away from his forehead.

“Shhh, Kili,” he murmurs softly as he pulls his brother against his chest. “It’s alright, Kee; you’re safe. No one can hurt you here.” Kili struggles against him weakly before relaxing against him with a shuddering sob.

Fili hates this. He struggles to will down the rage he feels, tries to remember his uncle’s words from a few days ago. He wants so badly to find those wretched boys and throttle them until they can’t speak ever again. He wants to give them twenty bruises for every one that mars Kili’s skin. His brother is too young, too young to know this kind of pain, and he is too young to feel this much anger.

“You are so brave, little brother,” he soothes as he cards a hand through his brother’s dark curls. “So very brave. Ori told me everything.”

Kili shakes his head. “I was stupid,” he grumbles as he presses his face against Fili’s neck and winds his arms around him.

“Reckless, yes,” he agrees. “You shouldn’t have tried to take them on alone.”

“Stupid,” Kili whines pitifully. “I spit in Mogue’s face!” He shudders slightly, remembering, and his brother squeezes him tighter.

Fili barely covers his shocked laugh with a cough. “You what?” Ori had been a little light on the details, with his concussion and all, and he hadn’t realized that his brother had goaded his attackers on. “Oh, I would have loved to see his face.”

“He was mad,” Kili grumbles as he curls in tighter to his brother. “It was scary,” he admits quietly.

“I know,” he soothes gently. “I know it was. I’m sorry for laughing.” He understands now that he’s underestimated how distraught his brother really is.

“I thought I was going to die,” he whispers, and Fili feels the wetness of his tears against his neck. “I was so scared.”

He rubs soothing patterns along the boy’s back as he presses a kiss against his hair. “It’s okay, Kee,” he murmurs, hoping he sounds reassuring. “You’re safe now. Uncle and I won’t let you out of our sights ever again, if we can help it.”

Kili nods against his neck, good hand seeking out his own to squeeze it tight.

“I promise, Kee,” he murmurs. “No one will ever hurt you like this again.”

\-----

“This is very, very troubling,” Nar murmurs softly. “Very troubling indeed.” Thorin shifts anxiously from one foot to another, regarding the elder dwarf critically. Nar had come with them from Erebor, had been a young, eager advisor to his grandfather before the dragon came. He had shown unwavering bravery and loyalty to the line of Durin, and Thror had rewarded him with the Governorship of the town they had carved into the side of the mountain before their ill-fated trip to Moria.

For their parts, the four lads charged with assaulting his nephew look positively terrified. Clach and Clavin are sporting matching bruises on their cheeks, their father standing forebodingly behind them, gripping their shoulders with a white-knuckled grip. Baeddan keeps his eyes on the floor, his mother teary-eyed behind him. Mogue stands with his grandfather, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously. It brings Thorin a small level of comfort to see that they are ashamed of their actions (or that they are at least dreading their punishments) but he will still see justice for Kili and Ori.

Dori sits to his right, wringing his hands nervously, and Dwalin is to his left. Bifur and Bofur sit beyond the warrior, and Nori lingers near the door, his gaze practically murderous as he watches the boys squirm.

“You lads assaulted two innocent boys,” Nar continues. “You nearly killed one of them, and for what? Entertainment?”

“We didn’t mean…” Clach starts.

“Shut it,” Dwalin growls from his left, and Bofur smirks from beyond him. Thorin feels a great deal of gratitude for his friends, both of whom are quite fond of and protective over Kili.

“Boys have been executed for lesser crimes before,” Nar says as he fixes each of the lad’s with a stern glare. “You are fortunate that we dwarrows have fallen on such hard times. The fact that dwarflings are rare is the only thing saving you from that fate.”

The color drains from each of the lad’s faces, and it is evident that, in their youth, they hadn’t fully thought through the consequences of their actions. Baeddan’s mother starts to sob openly, and for a second he feels sorry for her, before he remembers Kili’s pale, bruised, bloody face. She should have taught he son better, single mother or no. Thorin had raised his boys on his own, and they had enough sense not to bully and tease.

“As it is, I will give you a choice,” Nar rumbles on. “In either case, should you ever lay a hand on either of those lads again, I will not hesitate to see you executed, children or not.” Dwalin murmurs appreciatively beside him, a small smirk gracing his lips. “You can either serve thirty years of hard labor in the mines – that means everyday, from sun up to sun down, for thirty years, mind you – or you can leave this town and never return. The mines or exile, lads; those are your choices.”

Dwalin flashes him a smile. Thirty years in the mine is a hefty sentence. Forced laborers work constantly, with no breaks, and often fall ill or become injured and mangled before their sentences are up. For young lads, it is almost assuredly a death sentence.

“It’s the mines for these two,” Clach and Clavin’s father declares; gaze stern and unwavering as both lads turn pleading eyes on him.

“Da, please,” Clavin pleads. But his father simply shakes his head.

“You’ve three sisters and your mum here, not to mention myself. You’re mad if you think I’ll uproot the lot of us because of your stupidity,” he growls, and the boys fall silent again. “It’s high time you face the consequences of your actions, boys. Thorin has done great things for our people, and this is how you repay him? By nearly murdering his boy?”

The two fall silent again as they flush with shame. Thorin feels a small smile tugging at his mouth; it brings him great comfort to hear that their father is still on his side.

Baeddan turns from where he had been discussing things with his mother, who is still sobbing. “We’ll leave,” he says quietly, rubbing a hand against his mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, mum,” he whispers.

“We will also leave,” Mogue’s grandfather says before he turns his eyes to Thorin. “I’m glad the lad’s are alright. I’m sorry for what this one has done to them. He knows better.” Mogue’s face turns back to the ground.

“Very well then,” Nar murmurs as he writes the results of their tribunal into his. “The prospector will be round to fetch you lads in three days time,” he says as he gestures to Clach and Clavin. “I expect the rest of you to be gone before the week is out.” He slams his gavel down on the table, signaling that they are finished here, and Thorin sags in relief.

Dwalin claps him on the shoulder. “See, my friend? I told you they would have justice for the lads. You forget how many allies you have,” he adds thoughtfully.

“Shall we fetch the lads and tell them the good news?” Bofur asks. “Bombur made miniature pies to celebrate with!”

Thorin nods and they all file out, returning to the House of Healing with warm smiles.

\-----

It is a week after Kili has woken that Oin declares the lad healed enough to go home. Thorin is positively elated at the news – he is not fond of sleeping in the old armchair by Kili’s bed – and he knows that coming home is an important step in the lad’s recovery. Kili has not been himself since the attack, not that he should be. He’s taken to brooding, and the darkness is his eyes have not escaped Thorin’s notice. Fili had told him about how scared Kili had been, about the nightmares, and it felt like a stab to his heart to learn just how much of the lad’s innocence had been sheered away.

But, he hoped, getting Kili home would help him get back to normal, and Thorin was anxious to have his sweet, loving Kili back as soon as possible.

It is a small affair to bring him home. Bofur arrives with a few toys, crafted by himself and Bifur, including a bird with a crank that makes its wings flap that leaves Kili mesmerized. Ori spends a good chunk of the day drawing designs on Kili’s cast, stating simply that he’d wanted Kili to have something nice to look at when he was in such pain because of him. Dwalin arrives just as they’re ready to leave, to escort the family home, and to shield Kili from prying eyes.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Thorin asks as they stand in the front room of the House of Healing. Kili chews on his bottom lip for a moment before shaking his head.

“I can walk, I think,” he murmurs quietly, and Thorin can tell that he’s wary of stepping outside.

He squats down to be level with his youngest nephew. “Those boys will not hurt you again, Kili.”

The lad is shaking slightly when he replies. “How do you know?”

“I won’t let them,” he answers simply enough. “And I doubt they would risk death just to tease you once more.”

Kili nods, but he can still see the anxiety in his face. “I want to go home,” he murmurs, just as a glimmer of tears falls over his eyes.

Dwalin holds the door for them as they leave. It is dusk, and the marketplace is largely empty, but Kili latches on to Thorin’s hand, stays pressed close to his uncle’s side the entire way. Dwalin walks in front of them, and Fili stays close behind his brother. Kili stumbles a few times as he walks, having spent so long in bed, so Fili places a comforting hand on the small of his back to keep him steady. Nori passes them as they walk, and he flashes them an uncharacteristically warm smile as he does.

They are nearly home when Kili does truly trip and stumble. He instinctively reaches out his broken arm to break his fall, his good hand still clasped in Thorin’s, but Fili grasps him from behind before he can hit the ground. Thorin immediately scoops him into his arms, and he buries his face against his uncle’s neck. Thorin feels the wetness of tears, hears the shaking, shuddering sob that escapes his lips.

“That was good, Kili,” he soothes, bringing a hand up to card through the lad’s hair. “You made it so far, after not walking for so long.”

Kili wraps his good hand around Thorin’s braid but says nothing.

When they make it into their home, he fully intends to deposit Kili into his own bed to sleep for the night, but the lad is shaking in his arms, and he’s not keen on letting him go anytime soon. He toes off his boots before sitting in his well-worn armchair, Kili situated on his lap. Fili sets about removing his brother’s boots before taking off his own.

“Can I…?” he murmurs as he gestures to his uncle’s lap. He knows his legs will be numb and sore in the morning, but he can’t really refuse Fili anything, not when it comes to his little brother.

“Come on then,” he murmurs and Fili carefully situates himself on his lap, his hands immediately going to brush Kili’s hair from his face. Kili is still shaking, whether from exertion or fear or pain, he really isn’t sure. He focuses on whispering quiet words of support and endearment against his temple until the tremors stop, and his breathing evens out and he relaxes against his chest.

When Dwalin steps back in to stoke the fire to life, Kili and Fili are sound asleep, nestled against either side of him. His old friend flashes him a knowing smirk once he settles down in their other armchair.

“He’ll be alright, you know,” he murmurs after a while of companionable silence. “Especially with those lads being punished the way they are.”

“I know,” he agrees quietly, pressing a kiss to Kili’s forehead when the lad whimpers in his sleep.

They lapse into silence once more, until Dwalin clears his throat. He glances over at his friend with a brow raised.

“Balin’s worried about you,” he comments idly, and Thorin’s brow furrows in confusion. “Fili will start his training as a prince soon, on his thirtieth. He’ll learn about the oath, about everything that’s expected of him. Of both of them.”

Thorin’s hand stills where it had been drawing patterns along Kili’s back. “I’ll not let him take the oath,” he murmurs quietly.

“If we leave to take back Erebor, you won’t have much of a choice,” his friend points out. “You’re too attached, Thorin. You coddle them too much. You know what Kili is, what he will be expected to do if we leave take this journey.”

“Kili won’t be coming with us,” he whispers. “And if he doesn’t come with us, there’s no need for him to take the oath.”

“What if he tries to?” Dwalin counters. “I know you love him, Thorin. I know you think of him as your son, but you cannot shelter him from everything. He is the spare; no amount of your love will ever change that.”

“I know,” he replies quietly, arm subconsciously tightening around his youngest nephew. “I will not let him suffer the same fate as Frerin,” he murmurs a moment later. “Frerin died because of me. I won’t…I can’t let that happen to Kili. Not to Kili.”

Dwalin sighed. “You have to let him grown up some time.”

“I will,” Thorin huffs out quietly. “When he’s of age. But he is a child, Dwalin,” he stresses. “A child under my care, and I will protect him as I see fit.”

“I didn’t mean any offense,” he placates softly. “Balin will, but I don’t. He will come to talk to you about it soon, I reckon.”

He sighs again, feels the annoying prickle of tears behind his eyes. Kili stirs against him, hand fisting and unclenching in his hair. “Uncle,” he sighs out.

“Shhh,” he soothes as he presses his cheek against the crown of the lad’s head. “Sleep, Kili. You’re safe.”

“It’s not so bad being a spare,” Dwalin comments a moment later. “I took my oath before I came of age, and I turned out fine.”

“But he’s not like you,” Thorin almost snaps. “He’s like Frerin. Reckless, and headstrong, loves too deeply. He’d throw himself on a sword meant for Fili without a second thought, without looking for a different solution.”

“I’ll train him myself, Thorin,” Dwalin adds. “And you know I’d train him well.”

“Please, Dwalin,” he stammers out. “I don’t want to talk about this. Not now. Not when I’ve just got him home and safe.”

His old friend nods. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have…” he sighs. “I’m sorry, Thorin, It’s not my place.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, until Thorin eventually takes a cue from his nephews and falls asleep. Dwalin sees himself out.

\-----

Three days later, Kili is almost back to his normal self. He is still more cautious than Thorin is used to, keeps his broken arm cradled to his chest when he moves, but he is back to following his brother everywhere he goes, back to running about the marketplace with Ori after their lessons with Balin. Dwalin even lets him attend his sparring lessons, though Kili is unhappy about simply watching from the sidelines.

“Come on, Kee!” Fili calls from the door. “Mister Dwalin wanted me at the forge an hour ago!”

“Coming!” Kili calls from the direction of their bedroom, and Thorin smiles softly at the sound of little feet running through the hallway. A second later, the door to his study creeps open, and Kili pokes his head in.

“What is it, little one?” he asks as he sets the scroll he was reading down.

Kili flashes him a brilliant smile and rushes to him; he climbs into his lap (though Thorin has to assist him with his broken arm) and wraps both arms around his neck. He is a little surprised at the sudden display of affection, more so when Kili pulls back and presses a kiss against his cheek before hopping back onto his feet.

“Love you, Uncle,” he says softly, before running back out the door to follow his brother to the forge.

Thorin wears a stupid grin for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooo, monster chapters! I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading!


	8. Twenty-Five and Nineteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Sorry this one took so long. Real life was kicking me around for a bit there, but I’m back! (Also I don’t like this chapter but I hope you do!)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! displacedhobbit.tumblr.com.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Violence, blood, little bit of gore, canonical character death (in a flashback), somebody gets sick, angsty, angsty angst.

“And just what do you think you’re doing out here?” Dwalin grumbles from behind him.

Fili jumps in shock as his heart leaps up into his throat, the knife that he was twirling in his palm clattering uselessly to the ground. He wasn’t supposed to get caught, not by Dwalin, of all people.

“Nothing,” he lies lamely as he reaches down to pick up his knife. Dwalin’s foot stamps down on it before he does, just narrowly missing his fingers. He gives an indigent shout when the warrior grabs him by his hood and starts to haul him away from the entrance to the mines.

“Hey!” he shouts out as he struggles to get free. “Let go of me!”

Surprisingly, Dwalin acquiesces, by throwing him down to the ground.

“I’ll bet Clach and Clavin’s shift ends soon, at sundown,” he comments dryly. Fili swallows audibly, eyes following his instructor as he takes a few steps back to retrieve the lad’s knife. “And you’ve got no business in the mines to speak of,” he continues, tone making it obvious that Fili had better explain himself or else.

“I was going to check on the materials we requested for the forge,” he explains, but Dwalin cuts him off with a stern glare.

“You know, neither you nor your brother have ever been any good at telling lies.”

Fili flushes with embarrassment, but makes to stand up and brush himself off instead. Dwalin responds by shoving him back down to the ground once more.

“Do you know what the punishment is for murder?” he snaps, and Fili feels very small under his stern gaze.

“It wouldn’t even be murder; it would be justice –“

“Enough!” Dwalin shouts. “It would be murder, two counts of it, and you would be executed. Nar wouldn’t care about your princely status or about how few little dwarflings we have left.” He growls roughly. “You would be executed, and then where would your brother and your uncle be?” He throws Fili’s knife to the ground, watches as it buries itself in the dirt just between the lad’s feet.

“I wasn’t going to kill them,” he mumbles lamely. “I just wanted to scare them.”

“So you want to be the bully yourself then?” Dwalin snarls. “After all those idiots put your brother through, you would sink to their level?”

Fili snaps his head up to look at him. “What? No! I wouldn’t…” His words escape him and he falls silent again, stares at the knife where it is embedded in the ground. Shame creeps in on him as he realizes with a sinking feeling that Dwalin is right. “Please don’t tell Uncle.”

Dwalin scoffs. “Your uncle has enough to worry about without you acting like an idiot. You’d best start learning how to handle yourself, before you get yourself into trouble and no one’s around to get you out.”

Fili wants to thank him, but he knows better than to do so when the warrior is so incised, so he settles for chewing anxiously on his bottom lip.

“Listen well to me, boy,” Dwalin growls. “If I ever catch you near the mines again without purpose, I will throttle you myself.”

Fili nods. “Yes, Mister Dwalin,” he mumbles.

The warrior grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him back up. “Get that knife of yours and come with me. You’re going to be working in the forge all night, lad.”

He groans at the punishment, but he knows that he deserves far worse. He hadn’t been thinking, not at all. The idea had come to him not an hour ago, to be waiting outside the mines when those wretched boys got off from their shift, idly sharpening his knives to remind them of just who’s little brother they had assaulted. It had been a stupid thought, so, so stupid, he knew, but he was so tired of feeling helpless.

He wanted justice. It had been months since they had attacked him, but Kili still hadn’t regained full use of his arm. A few weeks after the incident, Oin had noticed that the bone wasn’t healing correctly, and he’d broken it again to reset it and give it a chance to heal correctly. The arm still gave Kili a great deal of pain, though he was good at hiding it (not to him though; Kili could never hide anything from him); he wasn’t able to support his weight with it and he could barely participate in sparring lessons, all because of them. He hadn’t even been able to shoot his bow, not with the level of pain that just pulling gave him.

He felt the now familiar rush of anger bubble up inside of him once more. Dwalin was right; he needed to learn how to get a better handle on his emotions. He was as hot headed as his uncle, though much less skilled at managing it. He clinched his fists at his sides, willed himself to calm down.

Dwalin turned to make sure he was following him, and his stern expression melted into something softer when he noticed the lad’s distress. With a sigh, he walked back to Fili and patted a hand on his shoulder, urging him to walk with him.

“Come on, lad,” he said quietly. “Trust me, a few good hours of hitting iron with a hammer will do wonders for your anger. S’what your uncle does, anyhow.”

In the morning, when they finally leave the forge, Fili admits that he was right.

\-----

Thorin rubbed his face tiredly with his free hand. In the other, he held a salvaged blueprint of the great halls of Erebor, one that he was studying over at Nar’s request to see how it could be adapted to build a similar set of halls in the Blue Mountains. He jumped, nearly dropping the print in surprise, as thunder boomed throughout their modest home. Sure enough, it was followed by the sound padding feet from the boys’ room.

“Uncle?” Kili called sleepily from the hall. Thorin smiled softly and set the piece of parchment down.

“In here,” he called, and not a moment later the door to his study creaked open. The lad’s hair was mussed from sleep, and he blinked blearily at the soft candlelight in the room. Thorin offered him a warm smile before gesturing him over. Without further invitation, Kili crawled up into his lap, mindful of the scrolls he had strewn about the desk in front of him. He pressed his face against his uncle’s neck and sighed heavily.

“It’s just a storm lad,” he chided, but slid an arm around him anyway. Kili had been afraid of the thunder for as long as he could remember, and he truly couldn’t blame him. The thunder seemed to shake the very core of the mountain, as though it came from deep within the earth rather than up in the sky. It made him wonder if the tales Bofur always told of massive stone giants coming to life and hurtling rock at one another were actually true.

Yet, for as easily as the storms always woke Kili, Fili could sleep straight through them, which meant that his youngest nephew usually sought him out, instead of attempting to rouse his brother. As it was, Thorin was sleeping less and less these days, with trying to assist Nar with the building of the Great Halls and keeping up with correspondences about the fate of Erebor and that wretched dragon.

“So?” Kili grumbled, and he chuckled lightly.

“How will you ever be able to fight off orcs and goblins if you’re frightened by a little bit of thunder?” he mused.

S’not the same,” the lad protested. “And you and Mister Dwalin said I’m too little to do any fighting anyhow.”

He chuckled again before pressing a kiss against his forehead. “That is true,” he conceded, lifting the blueprint to focus on it once more. Thunder boomed again and Kili started against him, so he hugged the lad just a little bit tighter.

“What’s that?” the boy asked as he tangled his hand in his uncle’s hair. It usually worked well to simply distract Kili until the storm had passed, so he was glad for the easy opportunity.

“This, little one,” he said as he ran his fingers across the parchment. “This shows the halls of Erebor.”

Kili frowned. “It’s not a very good picture,” he complained lightly. “Not like the other ones, at least.”

Thorin hummed in agreement. The blueprints definitely paled in comparison to the lavish sketches and paintings of the great halls he had shown the lads before. “It’s not a picture, not in the sense that you are used to, at least. It’s a plan. It shows where all the rooms go and the like.”

Kili perked up a bit at the explanation. “Where’s your room?”

“I was still a lad when we lived in Erebor, just about as old as your brother is, now,” he explained as he gestured to an area on the parchment. “But the royal apartments were back here, deep within the mountain.”

Kili wrinkled his nose. “I wouldn’t like to be so far underground,” he murmured. Thorin smiled softly, knowing this to be true. Kili hated be cooped up in their own modest home for too long, hated to be away from the fresh air and the sunshine and the wilderness. It was part of why some of the dwarflings called him an elfling, for Kili had always preferred the wilds to being deep underground.

“It wasn’t so bad,” he mused. “These rooms, here,” he murmured as he gestured to a cluster of four squares in the royal apartments. “These belonged to your mum, Frerin, and to myself. We used the spare room for our adventures.”

Thunder boomed again, but Kili barely started. “Adventures?” he gasped, excited. “What kind of adventures?”

He chuckled lightly before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Well, some days, we would each build our own fortresses, and rule the three greatest dwarf kingdoms Middle Earth had ever seen. Other days we would go out hunting orcs and goblins, and still other days we would craft some of the finest things you’ve ever seen in our make-believe forge.”

He felt his eyes grow misty at the memories. He hoped the lad wouldn’t notice, but the small hand cupping his cheek let him know that he had. Kili always noticed, so perceptive he was of others. So like Frerin.

“You could still go on adventures like that, with me and Fee,” he says after a moment of contemplation.

He presses a kiss against the boy’s forehead. “I’m a bit too old for such adventures, little one,” he murmurs.

Kili peers up at him, curious. “But going back to Erebor will be an adventure, won’t it?” He frowned slightly. “You’re not too old for that.”

Thorin gives him a warm smile, one that is becoming increasingly rare and is reserved for only his nephews (and sometimes Dwalin, when his old friend manages to pull it out from him). “Indeed. It will be a great adventure. One that I am not yet too old for,” he pauses to tap lightly at Kili’s nose, “and for which you are not yet old enough.”

Kili’s frown deepens. “Would you go without me? If I’m still not old enough when it’s time?”

He sighs, sets the blueprints down and pushes the child’s hair back from his face. “I would not have you hurt, little one,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering quickly to the lad’s still healing arm. “But I would not fret over it. It will be many years yet before we will leave to take back our homeland. We will decide when the time comes.”

The lad sniffles, clearly not satisfied with his answer. “Mister Balin says that you’ll leave me. You’ll leave me and you’ll take Fee because he’s your heir.”

Thorin frowns slightly. He knows that Balin is only trying to help by letting the boys know all of the possibilities for their futures, and he knows in his heart that he would never allow Kili to accompany them on their quest, not when he is the spare, not when his sweet, little Kili would be expected to forfeit his life in favor of his brother’s or his uncle’s. Yet, he also does not know what the future will bring, what the world will be when they are ready to start their quest. If Kili has reached his majority by the time they depart, he will have taken his oath to protect his brother and his uncle with his life, and there would be little Thorin could do to stop him.

He shakes his head, wills the thoughts away. “We will see what happens when the time comes, my boy,” he murmurs. “I am no seer; I cannot tell you what the future will bring.” Kili’s head drops back down to his shoulder and the lad sighs heavily. “Though you must know, Kili, there will be journeys that I must take, ones that Fili must accompany me one, ones that you will be too young for.”

“I’m not that much younger than Fee,” he protests, and Thorin shushes him quietly.

“Balin will start to teach you of your duties soon,” he explains. “Fili is the crown prince, he is my heir, and his responsibilities are vastly different from yours. If we are called to court, then Fili and I must attend. You, you are the second prince; you will not be expected to attend such things, even when you are of age, unless you are specifically requested.”

Kili sighs, flinches at bit at the loud burst of thunder that follows his uncle’s explanation.

Thorin pulls the lad away a bit to see his face, and frowns at the tears he sees pooling in his eyes. “Know this, my little Kili,” he all but whispers as he cups the lad’s cheek. “If I must ever leave you behind, it is not because I do not care for you. I would have both of you safe at my side every moment of every day if I could.”

Kili still doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway, and Thorin pulls him close to his chest. It is a while before the storm passes, but when the last, light rumbles of thunder have faded away, he is please to hear the lad’s breathing deep and even with sleep. With a sigh, he lifts himself up and deposits the lad in his own bed, smiling softly when Fili grumbles at the slight disruption of his sleep before curling around his brother.

Balin’s warnings echo in his head as he slides their door closed and prepares for sleep. You coddle them so. They’re far too close. Get them their own beds. Kili is too old for tears. If we were in Erebor, none of this would be proper. He knows it all. He knows he hasn’t raised them to be proper princes, but they haven’t even had a home to be proper princes in, so he can’t bother to care too much. He’s raised them to be good, loving, normal dwarrow boys, and that is what they are.

Yet he knows the days when all of that will start to change are ominously close at hand.

\-----

It’s the scream that pulls him back from his bloodlust, stops the roaring in his ears, cuts short the elation he feels as he watches the pale orc being tossed back into the abyss, blood rushing freely from his stump of an arm, to let him die in the filth of his wounds. He’d have followed them, cut the head from the orc’s shoulders to avenge his grandfather, but the scream from directly behind him pulls him back; the scream from a young dwarfling who by all rights shouldn’t be on the battlefield in the first place.

He turns in time to see the orc yank its sword free of his baby brother’s chest, just in time to see it kick him to the ground before raising its sword once again, to kill him, and the bloodlust swells up in him again.

It takes him less than a minute to slash the foul creature into bits, with such rage that it scares all of the nearby orcs off. The filth know they have been defeated, and they all scramble back to their holes and caves, but he can’t be bothered to chase any of them down.

As quickly as it came, the bloodlust fades away, and he feels empty, drained, exhausted as he lets his sword fall from shaking fingertips as he sinks to his knees at his brother’s side.

“Frerin,” he murmurs softly as he pulls the lad to his chest, breath catching in his throat at how young he looks (how young he is, is mind reminds) as he pushes the hair from his face. He coughs up blood, the jagged, horrific wound in his chest lets his blood flow freely, but still his brother reaches a shaking hand up to his cheek. He grabs it and holds it there, the din of the battleground fading away as he looks at his brother’s ashen face.

“You’re…okay…?” Frerin rasps out.

He swallows around the lump in his throat as he uselessly presses his hand against the wound to stop the bleeding. Frerin is going to die, there’s not a doubt in his mind, but damn him if he can’t stay strong enough to help his brother pass into the afterlife. He doesn’t trust his voice, so he nods.

A small smile spreads its way across his face. “Good,” he mumbles. “Couldn’t let them…”

“Shhh, Frerin,” he chokes out, dismayed at how wrecked he sounds. He’s just lost his grandfather, has no idea where his father is, and his brother is dying in his arms. He’s nearly lost everything, and he counts his blessings that Dis is safely behind at their camp. “You need to save your strength.”

Frerin’s blue eyes focus on his face, the smile still in place as his fingers stroke along his cheek. “You’ll take…take care of Dis…won’t you?”

He nods again, pushes some of his auburn hair from his face, dismayed at how much of him is stained with blood. “Of course, of course. I promise.”

His brother struggled to draw breath again, the smile slipping from his face as he winces in pain. “Tell me a story,” he whispers. “So I can fall asleep. Tell me of the halls of Mandos”

Thorin chokes on a sob. It’s been years since his brother has asked him for a story, not since the dragon had forced them out of Erebor, not since he had lost his One in the blaze, all before his twentieth year. Frerin had grown up too fast, they both had, and now he was slipping away from him. He forces himself to will down his emotions, to stay strong for his baby brother just one more time, and tells the tale his brother has requested.

“Far off, on the western shores of Valinor, are the halls of Mandos,” he murmurs, not missing the small quirk of a smile that spreads across his brother’s face, despite how much pain he is clearly in. He pulls him closer, wraps his arms around him and presses their foreheads together. “The halls look out across the Encircling Sea, and from every one of the great rooms, you can see the beauty of the water, feel the solid earth under your feet, breathe the freshness of the air.”

Frerin coughs wetly, and he knows, he knows that he is so, so close to passing on. He swallows the well of emotion back down, determined to see this through.

“But beside all of the beauty, you’ll find all of those who have passed on before you, all of your kin who you have lost, and mourned, will be there, waiting for you, with open arms.” He presses a kiss to his brother’s brow. “Grandda has gone just before you,” he murmurs. “He is waiting for you. And mum, she’s there for you too. You’ll tell her I love her, won’t you?”

Frerin chuckles lightly and nods.

“And Arah is there,” he adds, taking note at the way his brother’s smile widens at the mention of his One. “You two will be able to have the life you always dreamed of. The life Smaug took away from you.”

His tears do start then, and Frerin brushes his thumb shakily across his cheek. “I don’t want to…to see you there for…a long while, Thorin,” he murmurs. “You live for me, okay?” His brother coughs again; the light starts to fade from his eyes.

“I will; I promise,” he vows, pulls his brother as close as he can. “I promise, Frerin. I promise. I love you, nadad; I’m so sorry.”

“No ‘sorry’s,” Frerin gasps out. “Love…you.”

Then Frerin’s hand slips down from his cheek, falls limply to the ground, and Thorin just clutches him closer and screams.

He wakes with a start, covered in a cold sweat that seems to seep into his bones. He presses his shaking hands against his face to scrub away the tears he knows are there. He hates when he dreams of Frerin’s death. He remembers it all, in heart-stopping detail, and half expects to see his hands stained with his brother’s blood when he pulls them away from his face.

His head feels heavy, his body weak, and he would very much like to curl back up into bed and sleep, but he knows there is much to be done. He and Dwalin are behind at the forge, and he needs to meet with Nar about the plans, and he’d promised, promised Kili that he would come and help the boys with their sparring today. No, there was no time to wallow in his self-pity in bed all day, no matter how much he desired it.

He drags himself out of bed with no small amount of effort, wanting to first check on the boys. He is surprised to find Kili perched in their armchair, a too-bright candle in one hand and a book about animals Balin had given him set against his propped up legs. Fili still snores lightly from the bed, and Thorin feels a small smile tugging at his lips. Not a few years ago, their roles would definitely be reversed, but ever since Fili had started working in the forge, he’d begun sleeping later into the day.

He ought to get Kili started soon, but the lad is still so slight that he doubts he’d be able to keep up. Not to mention they’d barely had time to fill their own orders, much less train a little dwarfling. His youngest flashes him a small smile when he notices him checking in on them.

“Have your brother up in fifteen minutes for breakfast,” he grinds out, slightly alarmed at how rough his voice sounds, making a mental note to retrieve a mug of water for himself as soon as he’d gotten breakfast started. Kili frowns at him, clearly concerned, but nods anyway.

He squeezes his eyes shut, as if to will away the tension that sits behind them. His head feels full, feels as though his brains are pressing out against his skull, and his body feels like it is made of lead. He must have slept horridly, on top of his bad dreams.

“Of all days to feel a wreck,” he grumbles under his breath.

He is nearly to their front room when his vision lurches violently and everything goes black.

\-----

Kili is on his feet the second he hears the crashing and clattering from the hall. Even Fili, who can sleep through nearly everything, stirs and wakes, casting a confused glance to his brother before the younger sprints out into the hall.

He trips over his uncle’s leg, so lost it was to the darkness, before careening to the cold stone floor, his still-healing arm instinctively coming out to break his fall. He gasps as the stars dance behind his vision, barely suppresses a cry of pain, before he starts pulling at the lump on the floor he presumes is his uncle.

“Uncle?” he calls as his hands ghost over his elder’s face. He draws his hand back in shock as he feels how hot Thorin’s skin is. “Fee!” he calls, trying very, very hard to quell the panic that he feels (Uncle is sick; Uncle never gets sick!).

Fili rounds the corner from their room not a second later, having wisely taken the precautions of grabbing his sword and lighting a lantern for them. He kneels next to his brother, passes a hand over his uncle’s brow, and sighs. “Kili, listen to me,” he commands, making sure that his brother is focused on him before he continues. “I need you to fetch Mister Dwalin and Mister Oin; do you understand?” Kili nods. “Get Mister Dwalin first; I’ll need him to help me get Uncle back to bed. And wear both your coats, Kee, and your boots. There’ll be a chill after the rains from last night.”

Kili’s gaze is fixed on his uncle’s too-pale face, and he doesn’t respond. Fili grips him firmly by the shoulders and shakes him once, forcing fearful brown eyes to focus on him.

“Is he…” the younger mutters. “Fee, I’m scared,” he admits.

“I know,” Fili soothes as he brushes a hand along his cheek. “I know you’re scared; I’m scared too, but I need you to be brave and do this for me, alright?” He drops his hand to Kili’s shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright, Kee; just fetch them for me. Please?”

Kili finally nods and scrambles to his feet, rushing to the door and lurching it open.

“Coats and boots, Kili!” he calls out, exasperated, sighing with relief when the lad does as he’s told and pulls them on before tearing out the door.

It is still early, the first rays of sunlight are just peaking over the wall protecting their settlement inside the mountain, but he spy’s smoke coming from the chimney of the forge, and decides to look for Dwalin there first. He crashes through the door, nearly falling to the ground in his haste, and is relieved to see the warrior poised at his anvil, not minding the peculiar look he is being given.

“Uncle is sick and he fell in the hall and he’s not waking up and I think he has a fever and Fili needs you to –“ he gasps out.

Dwalin immediately lets his hammer fall to the ground before hastening his steps to the boy and gripping his shoulders tightly. “Slow down, laddie. Take a breath and tell me what’s going on,” he urges.

“Uncle is sick,” he murmurs quietly. “Fili needs your help.”

Dwalin frowns, but nods, quickly retrieving the water bucket to douse his anvil and the flames in the hearth. “Have you gotten Mister Oin yet?” he asks.

Kili shakes his head. “Fee said to get you first,” he whispers.

“Alright then,” the warrior replies, before kneeling down to catch Kili’s face in his hands. “You’ve done well, laddie. You have. Run along and fetch Mister Oin. I’ll see to your uncle, yeah?”

Kili nods before rushing to the House of Healing, and is dismayed to find that Oin is not yet in. He all but sprints the distance to the healer’s home, throws himself at the door to rouse the older dwarf as quickly as possible.

It is Aerona who pulls the door open; a sleeping Gimli balanced carefully on her hip, her stomach swollen with her second child. “Oh, you Durin boys always do come so early!” she teases before she takes in the stricken look of the lad in front of her. “Dear child, what’s the matter?”

“I need Mister Oin,” he gasps out. “Uncle is sick.”

Her face pales just the slightest bit, but she nods. “He is still sleeping,” she explains. “Run on home, dear, and I’ll send him straight after you, alright?”

Kili nods and thanks her quietly before running across the marketplace once more. Once he arrives home, he is relieved to see that Fili and Dwalin have gotten his uncle back into bed, and that he is awake, though he seems disoriented.

“Uncle,” he breathes as he moves to stand next to his brother at the bedside. “Mister Oin is coming right behind me; he’ll be here soon.”

Thorin does not respond to him, but Fili wraps his arm around his shoulders and tucks him close to his side. “Thank you, Kee,” he murmurs before kissing the top of the lad’s head. Kili melts into the embrace, wraps his arms around his brother’s waist and buries his face into his shoulder, trembling ever so slightly. “It’ll be alright,” Fili soothes again. “Mister Oin will have Uncle all patched up in no time at all; you’ll see.”

“I told you you’d been working yourself too hard,” Dwalin grumbles as he presses a mug of water against Thorin’s lips, willing him to drink. They fall into a heavy silence, one that is eventually broken by the sound of Oin coming in the front door.

“Hello, hello!” he calls into the house. “I hear a certain kingly cousin of mine is ill?” He smiles as he rounds the corner into the room. “Let’s see about fixing you up then, shall we.”

Fili, Kili, and Dwalin all watch in silence as Oin examines his latest patient. It is just after he’s finished looking in their Uncle’s mouth that he speaks up.

“Dwalin, do me a favor and take the lads out of here,” he murmurs, his tone still cheery, though there is something decidedly off in it.

Fili shakes his head at the exact moment that Kili says, “No.”

“We’re not leaving him,” Fili elaborates.

“He wouldn’t leave us,” Kili adds.

Oin glances over to them and gives them a small, reassuring smile. “I think, laddies, that your uncle may be contagious; I simply don’t want you to get sick as well.”

Fili sighs heavily and nods, making to leave and grasping at Kili’s arm to pull him along.

Kili doesn’t budge. “No,” he repeats, and Fili rolls his eyes.

“Stop being ridiculous,” he hisses. “What good does it do you to get sick too? Come on, it’s not like we’re going to be far away.”

Kili still doesn’t move, so Dwalin grabs his shoulder and pulls him from the room, nearly tossing him into the hallway with his brother, slamming the door behind him as he does. The younger immediately presses his ear to the door, straining to make out any sound through the thick wood.

“Would you quit?” Fili chides. “You’re acting insane; Mister Oin will take good care of Uncle. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Kili shakes his head. “No, Fee. Something is wrong; I can feel it.”

Fili sighs and throws his hands up into the air before huffing off to the kitchen to find something to eat. “Have it your own way, then,” he mutters as he leaves. “Just come and get breakfast in a few minutes, yeah? You’re all skin and bones still.”

Kili presses closer to the door, pleased that he is actually able to make out their words, muffled as they are.

“I’ll need you to get those boys out of this house, and keep them out,” Oin is explaining, and Kili’s stomach drops into his boots.

He can hear the frown in Dwalin’s voice when he answers. “Why? Can’t be more than a simple cold, not at this time of the year.”

Oin sighs. “When was the last time he traveled?”

“He got back from Fairfield not two days ago,” Dwalin answered, referring to his uncle’s short trip to the nearby town of men and back a few days prior. “Does it matter?”

“Did anyone travel with him?” Oin continues, ignoring Dwalin’s question.

“Balin did,” he responds after a beat of silence. “Oin, what aren’t you telling me? Are you expecting my brother to fall ill as well?”

“I fear…” the healer murmurs. “I fear he may have contracted the Walking Death. Balin may have as well.”

Kili feels all of the air rush from his lungs. He’s heard the stories of what the Walking Death does to men; it makes them so ill that they waste away into nothing before they can recover. Spread through the breath of anyone who is actively sick from it, it ran rampant in a few towns for a few years back. He’d never heard stories of what it did to dwarrows, had never even heard of a dwarf falling ill from it.

“What do we do, then?” Dwalin continues softly in a tone Kili has never heard him use before.

He hears Oin’s heavy sigh. “We need to get the lads out, keep them away from this place while Thorin is ill. The three of you could have contracted the sickness already…we’ll need to keep an eye on you all, but they cannot stay here.”

“No!” Kili shouts and he wrenches the door back open, startling both dwarrows from their conversation. He makes to run to Thorin’s bedside, but Dwalin is there to intercept him, hoisting him up into his arms despite Kili’s struggles.

“Do all you can for him,” Dwalin tosses over his shoulder. “And for my brother. I will keep an eye on the lads.” Kili struggles against him, shouting for his uncle. His cries bring Fili round as well, who looks completely flabbergasted by the state his brother is in.

“What’s –“

“You lads and I are going to stay down at the Inn for a few days to give your uncle some rest,” Dwalin explains.

“Why do we need to –“

“I’ll explain later, boys,” he says as he gives him a genuinely apologetic smile. “Now get on your coats and your boots. We’ll fetch some clothes for you from the market later.”

Fili warily looked at his brother, confusion obvious on his face, but he eventually nodded and left the room to prepare to leave. Dwalin followed after him, Kili still struggling against him, and Oin hefted the door shut behind him.

As Fili got himself dressed to leave, Dwalin adjusted his hold on Kili, balancing him on his hip despite the fact that he was just a bit too tall to be carried in such a way, and tucked the lad’s head under his chin as he continued to cry.

“Won’t you please tell me what’s going on?” Fili asks quietly. “Why’s he so upset?”

Dwalin sighs, but fixes the lad with a stern gaze. “Oin thinks he may have contracted the Walking Death.” Fili pales visibly at this piece of news, and Kili wails harder against Dwalin’s chest. “He isn’t sure, lad; we must not jump to conclusions. He just wants to quarantine him for a few days, keep you lads safe. Just in case.”

Fili nods, numbly.

“Now lad, can you calm your brother down?” Dwalin asks. “It won’t do to have him sobbing in the streets.”

He nods again, opens his arms to pull his brother into them. “Hush, Kili. Hush,” he soothes, carding his fingers through his hair. “It’s alright, nadadith; we don’t even know if it’s serious.”

“But he was fine last night, Fee,” Kili moaned. “He was fine and now he’s sick and he’s never sick, Fee!”

Fili swallows the doubt he feels, presses a kiss against his brother’s temple if only to give him time to regain his composure. “It’ll all be fine, Kee,” He huffs out a humorless laugh. “The fates have been too cruel to us already, the Maker won’t let them take Uncle, too.”

Kili nods against him, takes several deep, gasping breaths to calm himself, and eventually straightens himself up and wipes his eyes, tries to regain some dignity, but winds up just latching to Fili’s side as they head out the door. Dwalin leads them through the awakening marketplace, takes them straight to Bombur’s tavern and inn.

“Little early for an ale, Dwalin,” Bofur teases from where he is pulling down chairs as they walk in, but his smile drops when he takes in the lads. “Some breakfast instead, perhaps?”

“That might be a good idea,” he agrees. “And we’ll need two rooms for a few days. One for me and one for the lads.”

Bofur raises an eyebrow, casts a glance down at the boys. “Is everything alright, Dwalin?”

“Oh, Oin thinks Thorin and Balin may have picked up something when they went to town,” he explains lightly, trying not to draw too much concern to the situation. “Wants to keep me and the lads away just in case.”

“Well that’s not so bad!” he exclaims, making sure to catch Kili’s eye as he flashes them a warm smile. He hands Dwalin two keys. “Come back down in ten; Bombur will have some breakfast for you by then.”

Dwalin ushers the lads upstairs, sees them to their room before handing Fili the key.

“Whatever you do lads,” he urges, gripping each of them on the shoulder, “do not go home until Oin sends for you. Do you understand me?”

Fili nods his acquiescence, but Kili stands still as a stone. Dwalin reaches down and grips his face in his hands gently.

“Promise me, lad,” he whispers. “Not until you’re sent for.” Kili finally nods, and Dwalin knocks their heads together tenderly. “That’s a good lad.”

\-----

For three days, there is no news, save for that Balin had fallen ill the same day as Thorin. Fili spent most of him time in the forge with Dwalin, working constantly to keep his mind off the situation at hand. He would work until he could barely stand (something he noticed Dwalin was doing as well), then head back to the tavern to retrieve Kili and fall into bed.

Kili grew more despondent with each passing day. He spent the entirety of the first day helping Bofur and Bifur make toys, carving the delicate shapes out of pieces of wood with practiced skill. But, by the end of the day, he’d nicked every last one of his fingers, and Bofur had tutted over him as he bandaged them with a sympathetic smile on his face.

The rest of the time he spends helping Bombur in the tavern, cleaning up the messes and running food and drink to the dwarrows that have stopped by for some comfort. They had kept the news of Thorin’s illness under tight wraps, so he tried his best to put on a good face for everyone, tried to quell all of the fears and doubts that were building up inside of him.

On the second night, when Nori comes in for a drink, he sees straight through the lad’s façade and asks him why he looks so down, and Kili positively breaks down in tears. Bofur grabs him and ushers him upstairs quick enough, muttering something about Kili missing his mum and da and that the lad is just fine. He sits with him and tells him all of the fables he can remember for his childhood while the lad cries himself out, tucks him into bed once he falls into exhaustion.

The next morning, both lads are eerily quiet when they come round for breakfast. Kili keeps himself pressed close to his brother’s side, and Fili keeps one arm slung around his shoulders. The lads are exhausted, he can tell, and Dwalin is too, for that matter. He wonders what it is that Thorin and Balin have fallen ill with, but he doesn’t dare ask, not after Dwalin had asked him to keep the nature of their stay secret.

For a moment, he finds himself staring at the two brothers, marveling at their closeness. He thinks that he and Bombur are close indeed, but Fili and Kili are a million times closer. It must be the hardships that they had grown up with, from loosing their parents, from being raised by their uncle, who’d just about lost everything in the world, save for those boys. He finds himself envying their closeness, but not their circumstances as he spoons some more of his brother’s baked apple tart onto their plates.

Fili leaves with Dwalin to return from the forge, and he takes Kili with him as he runs errands all around town for the day. He does his best to keep the lad distracted, but he doesn’t miss the way Kili’s eyes constantly look toward his home, doesn’t miss the tenseness in the lad’s jaw, doesn’t miss the way he worries the bandages on his fingers.

Finally, just as the sun sinks below the wall, and the settlement becomes bathed in twilight, he pulls Kili inside the toyshop he shares with Bifur and urges him to sit on the floor with him.

“I’m worried about you, laddie,” he states bluntly. Kili responds only by casting his eyes down to the stone floor. “Now, I don’t know what’s going on with your uncle, but whatever it is will pass in time. You’re worried that he’ll die, aren’t you?” he asks.

Kili’s head snaps up in surprise at the blunt question. Eventually, he nods.

Bofur gives him a warm smile. “Oh laddie,” he murmurs as he pats the boy’s knee softly. “We dwarrows are strong, and your uncle? He’s one of the strongest of all of us. Goblins haven’t been able to kill him. Orcs neither. Nor men, nor elves, not even a dragon could kill your uncle! I think it would take much more than a silly illness to bring him down.”

The corner of Kili’s lips pulls up in a slight smile, one that widens bit by bit as he shows the boy some of the newer toys Bifur has designed, ones with cranks and moving parts and are beautifully, meticulously decorated.

By the time they make their way back to the inn, night has completely fallen. Bofur keeps a hand on the lad’s shoulder as he guides them back, and he almost – almost – misses Kili’s tiny whispered ‘thank you,’ before they enter the bustling tavern.

“There you are!” Fili calls as soon as they enter. He looks mildly stricken, and Bofur flashes him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry about that, laddie,” he murmurs. “Drug him all around town with me today and didn’t even get him home in time for supper.”

“No; it’s fine,” Fili stammers out, but he still pulls his little brother into a hug the moment he’s close enough to. “Just needed to make sure he was okay, you know?”

Bofur gives him a knowing smile. “Believe me; I do.”

\-----

Hours later, when they’ve retired to their rented room, Fili forces himself to focus on how Kili’s breath is steady and even. His mind wants to wander, just as it has since their uncle fell ill. If Thorin didn’t recover…well, he had no idea what would happen to them. He’d heard stories, plenty of stories about little orphaned dwarrows who were abandoned to the wilderness. He tried to remind himself that they were princes, and that wouldn’t happen to them, but he was still faced with the daunting prospect of having to take care of the both of them, all on his own.

Well, he supposed, that wasn’t entirely true. He was sure that Mister Dwalin and Mister Balin would do everything they could for them, Mister Bofur too.

A selfish though crept through his mind, one that he was not able to will away.

So much of his life had been about raising Kili, taking care of Kili, protecting Kili, and Kili, Kili, Kili. If their uncle did not recover, it would be more of the same, more of the burden of being a parentless dwarfling tasked to raise his little brother.

‘No, no,’ he thinks fervently. He’s not a burden; he’s his baby brother, the one person in the entire world who completely loves and adores him, without any precedence or agenda. Not a burden, just a boy.

‘You’re just a boy, too,’ his mind unhelpfully supplies; ‘a boy who will never have a right childhood because of his burden.’

He squeezes his eyes shut, pulls his brother just a bit tighter against his chest as he tries to quell down his doubts. Even if Kili were truly a burden, he is one that Fili is happy to bear because he is his brother; his sweet, baby brother who has never uttered an ill word against him, who has never looked upon him with anything other than love and adoration, who hadn’t wanted to be parentless any more that he had. It wasn’t Kili’s fault, could never be his fault, and it was unfair of him to hold the lad’s youth against him.

He sighs heavily and presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead, murmuring a soft apology for his thoughts.

He’s nearly drifted off himself when he hears the door creak open. In an instant, he has his sword in his hand, has positioned himself between Kili and the door, ready to face down the intruder should they have ill intentions. In the dim light from the lantern the intruder is holding, he makes out the large shape of a tall dwarf, one with an all-too familiar face that has his sword numbly falling from his fingers and clattering to the floor.

“Uncle?” he breathes out.

Kili scrambles out from behind him, and he can feel the smile that pulls across his brother’s face. “Uncle!” Kili shouts excitedly as he tears away from the bed and throws his full weight into the much taller dwarf.

Fili sits numb with shock for a beat. For as sick as their uncle had been just a few days ago, there he is, standing and smiling and pulling a now sobbing Kili up into his arms. Thorin’s eyes fix on him, and a small, comforting smile is all that it takes for Fili to run to him as well, tears of relief streaming down his face.

“Shhh, lads,” Thorin is soothing as he moves them back into the room, as he pulls the door shut behind him. “It’s alright; I’m alright. I am well; Mister Balin is, too.” He sets the lantern down on the small table beside the bed before he toes off his own boots and sinks onto the mattress with them. “Everything is alright, my boys.”

“Was so worried,” Kili sobs out, as he curls up against his uncle’s side. Fili finds himself nodding in agreement, and is mildly surprised when his brother reaches over to wipe some of the tears he didn’t realize he was shedding from his cheeks. Thorin’s arms are tight around them and every single doubt he’d had is fading away, causing relief to flood him like a drug. He can feel his limbs shaking, so he presses close to his uncle’s side, wraps his arms around him and his brother as tight as he dares and let’s the tears of relief and joy fall.

“My sweet little boys,” Thorin rumbles, his own voice thick with something Fili doesn’t care to identify. “I meant it when I said I would never willingly leave you.”

And there is the assurance that Fili has always needed. Because he may have lost his parents, he may have to grow up too fast, he may have to give up his childhood in favor of his brother, but he doesn’t have to do it alone.

As long as their uncle is there, he will never be alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reeeaaading! Let me know what you think! (PS I love you)


	9. Thirty and Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili learns things. Kili feels unworthy. Thorin tries to be reassuring. Dwalin is the best pseudo-uncle on the planet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Hello, lovelies! Again I apologize for the delay. Since the last update, I was kicked out of my townhouse (so they could sell it), moved all of my things into storage, quit my job, moved in with my parents (which is NIGHTMARISH but free), and got a new job. Hooray! Things should be much calmer now and I expect the next few updates to come quickly. Thanks for hanging in there with me!
> 
> Warnings: Dwalin says a potty word, mentions of violence, bullying, and character death. Nothing too intense for this chapter. I needed to give you a break for what’s to come…heh heh heh.

“When there is a second son, he is considered the spare. The spare, by all rights, should never sit on the throne, or lord over the land’s he is entitled to; in fact it is deeply frowned upon to ever see a spare crowned king. Once he comes of age, the spare must take an oath, one that binds him to protect the king and the prince at all costs, including the very real possibility that he will be forced to give up his life, to ensure that the line endures.” Balin chances a glance up at Fili’s face, wondering how the lad will react to this bit of news.

As he expected, the prince appears thoughtful, though his face is carefully blank. “So when Kili turns eighty, he will have to take this oath?” he clarifies quietly.

“Aye, laddie; that is the tradition,” he confirms. “Though in some rare circumstances, the oath can be taken early. Frerin took it when he was forty-five, before we set out to reclaim Moria. Dwalin took it around the same time, though he was in his fifties.”

He mulled over this new bit of information. He had nearly forgotten that Balin was a dwarf lord in his own right, and it would make sense for Dwalin, as a second son, to have taken the oath as well. He wondered how many battles the brothers had fought in, side by side, how many times Dwalin had nearly sacrificed everything for his elder brother, before a horrible thought lodged itself in his mind.

Fili visibly swallows a lump in his throat. “Did…did Uncle Frerin die protecting Uncle Thorin? At Moria?” he asks, his voice tight. He knows better than to ask Thorin about his departed brother, but Balin had brought him up, so he was hopeful that his teacher could give him some more information.

The older dwarf is quiet for a long moment before he answers. “Aye, he did.”

Fili feels a cold weight settle into his stomach. He could never – he would never allow Kili to give up his life for him, no matter what the circumstances. He saw how broken his uncle was over Frerin, and he knew he would be just as so, if not worse, if he lost Kili.

“Things would be much different in Erebor, had you lads grown up there,” Balin continues softly. “You, as the Heir and Crown Prince, would be doted upon. You would receive the highest education, the best training in weaponry, and the finest smiths to teach you the ways of the forge. Kili would…well, he would be educated, of course, but not in the same way. He would have to train day in and day out to prepare for his role, though most of the time spares are not even aware of their burden until their nearly of age.”

He furrowed his brow. “Why aren’t they allowed to know?”

Balin offered him a small smile. “Think of your brother, Fili; think of how much he adores and loves you. If he were to know of the oath now, when he is still but a child and completely untrained, what do you think might happen?”

He frowns, understanding the old dwarf’s meaning. “He’d get himself into a whole mess of trouble, trying to protect me from things that don’t matter.”

“Indeed he would,” Balin chucked lightly. “He needs time to grow out of his recklessness, to be properly trained for battle. It is…” he hesitates for a moment, fixes Fili with a stern gaze. “You mustn’t let you uncle know that I’ve told you this. It would cut too deep.”

Fili nods, trepidation creeping in on him. “I swear it; I won’t say anything.”

Balin nods in thanks. “Frerin was just twenty when Smaug took the mountain, and he had barely started specializing in his weapon, the axe. When we were wandering from town to town, trying to find a decent place to settle, there was little time to train him, or Dwalin for that matter. We were too focused on just surviving.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His uncle never spoke of such things, and he felt a bit like he was encroaching on something so very private and personal, yet he wanted to know much more.

“When Thror decided to reclaim Moria, we knew there would be a battle ahead of us. There had been whispers of orcs residing in the mountain, but we did not know how many. Thror had been desperate to find us a home, you see, and we set out for battle.” He paused as a heavy, weary sigh passed from his lips. “We lost so many dwarrows that day, Fili. Thror was killed, and Frerin; it was the last time anyone saw Thrain, and we’ve all presumed that he has passed on. I lost my father, nearly lost Dwalin. They were dark times, indeed.”

Fili released a shaking breath. No wonder Thorin was so reluctant to speak of his own family. To have lost so many of them, when his uncle had still been so young, in such a horrific battle…he couldn’t imagine it for himself.

Balin gave him a sympathetic smile. “After Thorin had sliced the arm from the Pale Orc, when the rest of our soldiers were carrying him off to toss him in the pit of their dead, an orc came up behind Thorin, intending to kill him.” Another heavy sigh, and Fili could swear the old dwarf’s eyes had misted over. “Frerin threw himself on the sword meant for his brother. I saw it happen. If he had been better trained…if he hadn’t been so young and reckless and headstrong…well, he may have been able to disarm the orc instead. He may have been able to survive the battle.” He wiped a tired hand down his face before shaking his head. “It’s all just speculation, anyhow.”

He sat quiet for a moment, absorbing all that Balin had just told him. “Is that why Uncle is so protective of Kili?”

The elder dwarf chuckled lightly. “I should imagine so. There is a great deal of Frerin, and your father, for that matter, in little Kili. Small, reckless, loves too deeply, even born on the same blasted day.”

“What?” Fili asked, genuinely confused. His father’s birthday had been in the spring.

“Oh, I should have expected you didn’t know,” he grumbled. “Kili and Frerin share a name day. It’s part of why your mother was so distraught at his birth; her thoughts were so full of your father and her brother, both whom she loved dearly and lost far, far too soon.”

“What about when we return to Erebor?” he asked, chewing on his lip nervously. He didn’t want Kili to take the oath too young, to follow them to Erebor and possibly get himself killed. He didn’t think he could stand it if Kili died protecting him or their uncle.

Balin sighed again. “That, laddie, I don’t have an answer to. Your uncle has been very adamant that Kili is not to know of the oath should we leave for Erebor before he is of age. But, you, laddie, will be expected to come with him, as his heir, and the rest of the company that Thorin forms would be tasked with ensuring your survival and the continuation of the Line of Durin.”

Fili nodded, feeling greatly relieved that Thorin was already planning on keeping Kili safe, on leaving him behind. It would hurt, he knew, to be without his shadow, but it was much better than living in the constant fear that Kili could forfeit his life for him.

“However,” Balin continued; “if Kili is of age when we depart, he will have already taken the oath, and he will be expected to accompany you as well.”

The feeling of dread clawed back up his spine again, but he managed a small smile. “Well, Kili won’t be of age for fifty-some years. Surely we’ll have the mountain back before then.”

Balin offered him a smile in return, albeit a fake one. “Only time will tell, laddie.”

\-----

“Kili, wait,” Thorin called over the din of the forge. “You’re letting the metal get too thin, here.” He gestured at a specific part of the sword his youngest sister-son was determinedly working on. “You don’t want to leave any weak spots; the sword will break in battle.”

Kili huffed out a sigh as he wiped the sweat from his brow, frustrated. “Do I have to start all over?” he asked. He really, really didn’t want to have to start from scratch again, not when Thorin had made that face he makes when he is trying to hide his disappointment. He’d been helping out at the forge for nearly five years, and he still hadn’t made anything from metal that they could sell.

He did make a lot of hilts and scabbards, and other things from leather, as well as did a fair amount of engravings and embellishments, but Thorin and Fili and Dwalin all worked so well with metal, always crafted such beautiful things, and he couldn’t even make a sword without mucking it all up.

“I shouldn’t expect so,” Thorin replied after taking a moment to look the sword over. “Go and heat it here,” he indicated a particular spot on the sword, “and you should be able to reshape it.”

He sighed heavily as he blinked back tears of frustration he could already feel forming. Fili made it all look so easy, so effortless, and he felt entirely too useless.

Thorin placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you should take a rest. Is your arm hurting you?”

His eyes automatically drifted to the jagged scar along his forearm. Of course it hurt; it always hurt. It had been broken twice after all, and he been the worst pain he had ever experienced. Yet, he was too ashamed to admit that to anyone, so he simply shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess,” he mumbled.

“Kili,” he spoke with a warning tone, but his following admonishment was cut short by Gloin pushing through the door, a giggling Gimli perched upon his shoulders.

“Found him, Da!” Gimli happily exclaimed as he pointed a finger at Thorin.

Thorin waved at them in greeting, and Kili sullenly walked over to the fire to reheat the sword as he’d been instructed.

“You’ve got some company, cousin,” Gloin called out, and Kili turned to watch their exchange. “Emissaries from the Iron Hills. Six of ‘em.”

He didn’t miss the way his uncle’s entire form tensed up. “And what business do they have with me?” His tone was carefully guarded.

Gloin merely shrugged. “They didn’t say. Waiting for you in the market square, though.”

Thorin grumbled something under his breath that Kili thought sounded suspiciously like a swear as he strode over to his own anvil to retrieve the sword he was working on before dousing it with water. Kili did the same, casting curious glances at his uncle all the while. He’d never seen him so tense, so annoyed (and he and Fili had done a number of things to make him plenty annoyed), and he wanted to know why.

Balin had taught him about the other dwarf lords, about Dain who ruled in the Iron Hills, and that Dain had turned them away after Erebor had fallen, but that was all he knew. His uncle never spoke of them.

The four of them made for the market square, meeting with Balin and Fili along the way. “What’s going on, Fee?” he asked, tugging on his brother’s sleeve as they walked.

“No idea,” his brother mumbled as he gently pulled his arm away. “Stop it; you’re too old for that.”

Kili frowned. Fili had never seemed to mind the way he often looped their arms together, or the way he tugged at his sleeve when he was nervous. Yet, he could see the concern that lined his brother’s normally cheery features, so he did as he was asked.

He nearly stopped dead in his tracks when they rounded the corner to the market square. He hadn’t really known what dwarrows from the Iron Hills might look like, but they were all big, nearly as tall as Mister Dwalin and carried two axes apiece on their backs. They were dressed in full armor, and something uncomfortable settled itself into Kili’s stomach.

Instinctively, he reached for his uncle’s sleeve, only to feel Balin’s hand grasping roughly at his shoulder and pulling him back. “You stay with me, lads,” he offered in explanation as Thorin approached the emissaries, who were speaking with Nar about the construction of the great halls.

Upon seeing Thorin joining the rather impressive crowd that gathered, one of the emissaries’ faces lit up in a wide smile. “Ah, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King Under the Mountain! It is good to see you well,” he greeted.

Thorin’s back stayed tense and rigid. “What business has brought you to Ered Luin?” he asked, wasting no time on formalities. The emissary’s face fell slightly, but he seemed undeterred by his uncle’s rudeness.

“News has only just reached my lord’s hall of the passing of Lady Dis,” he explained, and Kili watched as Fili tensed up as much as their uncle. This time, when he reached for his elder’s hand, the blond didn’t pull away; instead, he squeezed it tighter. “My lord Dain wishes to offer his condolences for your loss.”

The tension in the crowd had grown palpable. Most of the dwarrows had known Dis at one time or another, and mention of he death seemed to renew the grief in their hearts. “You may thank him, for me,” Thorin murmured finally, his voice having lost much of its bravado.

After a beat of silence, the emissary spoke again. “We also heard she had borne sons, before her passing?” Kili gipped his brother’s hand even tighter, as his stomach continued to clinch with that uncomfortable feeling he couldn’t hope to will away.

Thorin’s anger rose up quickly. “Speak your true business,” he spat venomously. “Do not hide your intentions under the guise of condolences for my sister’s passing.”

The emissary immediately raised his hands in an attempt to placate his uncle. “I mean no offence, my lord,” he explained quickly. “My lord Dain only sought to see the legitimacy of these claims. Her firstborn would be heir to Erebor, would he not be? My lord Dain only wishes to see if a true heir exists; nothing more.”

Thorin falls silent for a long moment before he calls out, “Fili!”

His brother jumps slightly and wrenches his hand free. He gives him an anxious look before Balin pats him on the back and pushes him forward, a reassuring smile on his face. Kili starts to follow him, but Balin’s hand on his shoulder holds him back.

“Remember, laddie,” he murmurs as Fili makes his way through the crowd; “you go only if you’re called for.” He flashes a warm smile and pats his back gently. “Best not to get you mixed up into all these politics if we don’t have to.”

Kili nods and turns his gaze back to where his brother has come to stand by their uncle. Thorin’s arm wraps loosely around this shoulders, a show of pride as well as one of comfort for the lad.

“Quite a bit younger than we’d expected!” the emissary declared. “Fili, is it? How old are you, lad?”

Fili glanced up at their uncle before replying. “Thirty, sir.”

“Ah, so you’ve started learning your craft, and specializing in your weapons, have you?”

Fili gives a small nod. “Yes sir. I’ve been learning weapons making in the forge, and I train with twin sword.”

“Fine skills for a prince!” The emissary declares. “Though most lads learn their weapons from their fathers. As a bastard child, whom do you learn from?”

Thorin’s growl is warning enough for the emissary to back off slightly. “I learn from my uncle,” Fili answers quietly, though his voice trembles a bit. “As well as from family friends who have helped raise me in my father’s stead.”

“And what of the other boy?” the emissary asks as his gaze switches back to Thorin. “What of the little elfling who’d rather shoot a bow than learn the ways of his people?” The emissaries, as well as several of the townspeople laugh lightly.

Kili feels his cheeks flush with shame. Even in kingdoms far off from his home, he is still not a proper dwarf. Do dwarrows in the Iron Hills have him at the butt of their jokes, like so many in his own home do? He releases a shaking breath and hopes that his uncle is able to defend him in the face of these strangers.

“He is of no concern,” Thorin growls out, but says no more.

Kili’s heart sinks into his stomach. No concern, he is of no concern, not even worthy of defending in the face of the emissaries who mock him. His uncle is ashamed of him, ashamed of his rubbish skills in the forge, ashamed of his mediocre swordsmanship, ashamed of his lack of beard, of his smaller size, of everything. He felt the familiar prickle of tears behind his eyes, and took that moment to slip out of the crowd that had formed.

No one followed him.

\-----

Fili releases the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding the second the emissaries take their leave. His uncle is still tense as stone as they make their way back to the forge.

“What was all of that about?” he asks as soon as Thorin slams the door shut behind him. “Uncle?” he calls again, when his elder makes no sign that he’d heard him.

“That,” Thorin nearly snarls, “was Dain trying to weasel his way back into Erebor once more.”

“Once more?” I don’t…” he trails off, confusion evident in his voice. Thorin flops down heavily in the lone armchair in the forge and wipes a tired hand across his brow. “Uncle, please tell me what’s going on,” he pleads quietly.

Thorin sighs. “I am sure Balin has taught you of how Dain turned us away after the dragon came to Erebor,” he begins, and Fili nods his head. “I suppose that is not entirely true.”

Fili’s brow furrows in confusion as he settles himself down on the floor, much like he had when he and Kili were but babes, anxious for a bedtime story.

“From the moment your mother was born, Dain sent proposal after proposal for her hand in marriage,” he explains quietly. “My grandfather did not agree with his methods, did not think that a marriage should be used for political gains. Love is so rare for our people, and he did not feel it should be snuffed out without a chance for it to come to us.”

“Well was he in love with mum?” he asked, genuinely curious. He had heard stories of dwarrows whose love for their Ones went unrequited, and wondered if such a fate had befallen Dain.

Thorin shook his head. “No. At that time, he was next in line for the throne after my father and myself. I suspect he thought a marriage between himself and my sister would secure his hold in Erebor.” He sighed again. “Relations between Erebor and the Iron Hills were always on the best of terms, save for Grandfather’s refusal to marry of his only granddaughter while she was still a babe. When the dragon attacked…we had thought they would offer of sanctuary, offer us men to help fend off the dragon, and they did, but it came with a cost.”

Realization dawned on him. “He wanted mum,” he whispered quietly.

Thorin nodded. “Not only that, though. He wanted my grandfather to name him as his heir, to end the rule of the line of Durin in Erebor and to take it over for himself. It was not a price we were willing to pay.”

When Thorin’s face turned wistful, Fili asked another question. “Do you ever wish he would have paid it?”

Thorin immediately shook his head. “Not once. I saw how happy your father made your mum from the moment they met. I would not wish for that happiness to have ever been taken from her, no matter that we might be better off.” A soft smile spread itself across his face. “And I would not have you, or your brother, had we given into his demands. My life would be bleak indeed without the pair of you.”

Fili smiled in return. “Why didn’t you say anything about Kili?” he asked, genuinely curious. It had struck him as odd that his uncle hadn’t corrected the emissary’s statement about his brother, that he had brushed it off as though it were nothing.

Thorin sighed heavily. “The less he knows of Kili, the better. Daughters and second sons are often used a political bargaining chips. If Dain wants to think of Kili as a disgrace, as his emissaries so clearly do, then I will let him.” He frowns as he rubs his temple tiredly. “It is not ideal to allow others to think ill of my kin, but if it keeps Kili safe, then I will allow it.”

Fili nods in understanding. He doesn’t particularly like it either, hates to hear people refer to his brother as elfling or speak of him as though he is a lesser dwarf, but if it helps to keep him safe, then he supposes he can let is pass for now. He hadn’t realized just how much danger surrounded his carefree little brother, with being a spare and have other dwarf lords out to take advantage of him for their own political purposes. How was he ever supposed to keep him safe from those things? A small feeling of helplessness clawed its way up his throat.

He can’t. He can’t protect him from everything, just as Balin had said so many years ago.

“What troubles you, nephew?” Thorin asks quietly, jarring him out of his thoughts.

“Mister Balin taught me about the spares today,” he said quietly, wisely choosing not to elaborate on what all he had learned based on the way his uncle stiffened in his seat. “Though I’m worried about Kili; he’s not a strong enough fighter.”

“Not yet,” Thorin agrees. “That’s why he cannot know until he is eighty, until he is properly trained.”

Fili nods in agreement. “I won’t breathe a word of it to him,” he promises. “I don’t like it at all though. It’s not his fault he was born second. It seems like a terrible burden to bear.”

“I should suppose it is,” Thorin murmurs quietly. “Trust that I will do all I can to keep him safe.”

“I do trust you, it’s just that…Mister Balin said that if we don’t leave for Erebor before Kili comes of age then he’ll have taken the oath and…” Fili trailed off, chewing on his lip for a moment. “He didn’t really act like he thought Kili would survive is all, and I couldn’t stand it, uncle.”

Thorin slips down from the armchair to join him on the floor and pull him into a warm hug. “You mustn’t fret over this now,” he whispers fiercely, but he can tell from the thickness of his uncle’s voice that Thorin must worry about it every single day. “If things work out well enough I won’t need to bring either of you on the quest; you’ll stay safe here in Ered Luin and I will send for you once the dragon is vanquished. We will know no loss and you both will be kept safe.”

Fili nods against his chest and tries to swallow down the thickness that has formed in his throat. He wants to believe his uncle, he really, truly does, but deep in his gut he worries that everything is going to go terribly, horribly wrong.

\-----

Dwalin finds him some hours later, still hacking relentlessly into a wooden practice dummy in the training yard, sweat pouring down his back as he desperately tries to improve his skills. He knows exactly what ails the lad; he’d seen the way his face had fallen at his uncle’s dismissal of him. He’s seen Kili struggle with his weapons training, seen him break down in frustration when he couldn’t get his forms correct, or lost a sparring match against his opponents.

Yet he also sees great potential in Kili, potential that will develop into real skill once he is older and larger. The lad is like a lot of winter-born children – small for his age, slighter than his peers – but there are so few of them around, as many winter-born children die before their first birthday from the cold of lack of food, it is easy to forget. He reminds him of a scrawny, younger Thorin, one who had struggled as much as Kili did now.

“You’re gonna blunt your sword if you keep on like that, lad,” he comments idly, already forming a plan to handle the situation.

Kili whirls around in surprise, sword slipping from his numbed fingers. Dwalin tuts quietly at the streaks of tears he sees on the lads flushed, dirty face, and makes a mental note to speak to Thorin in the morning if he didn’t see him this evening. He’d understood why Thorin had reacted the way he had, but Kili clearly hadn’t. It wouldn’t do any good for him to explain his friend’s actions to the lad, however; he knew he needed to hear it from Thorin and no one else.

“We’ll sharpen it back up at the forge tomorrow, yeah?” he continues as Kili bends to pick up his sword. “Swing again, and stop when you hit the dummy.”

Kili gives him a look that is confusion mixed with relief, but eventually nods and complies. He grabs a wooden sword from the nearby weapons rack and neatly swings it against the opening Kili has left along his side.

“You’re leaving your side open again,” he says when Kili squawks in surprise at the hit. “How do you fix that?”

Kili bites his lip in thought for a moment before adjusting his form to close the opening. “Like that,” he murmurs.

“Good, good,” Dwalin agrees. “Now swing again, and make sure your stance is like that when you kit.”

It takes the lad a few tries to get it right, but he eventually succeeds flashes a small smile up at Dwalin when he does. They practice his forms against the dummy for a bit longer, Dwalin pointing out any weak spots he’s left for potential attackers, and Kili adjusting his form as he goes.

“Well done lad,” he applauds after they’ve worked for a while. “Now come on; I want you to spar with me.”

Kili’s mouth drops open comically wide. “I’m not even half as big as you!” he protests.

“I’d say our height difference is about the same as you and a man,” he explains. “You’re almost never going to be as big as your real opponents, lad, may as well get the practice in now.”

Kili still looks doubtful, but he trades his sword out for his wooden one and gets into the appropriate stance. “No hits?” he asks nervously. He’s never sparred with the lad before, and he’s seen Fili, Ori, and even little Gimli lay Kili out with a well placed hit, so he understands his hesitation.

“You hit me; I won’t hit you, just taps,” he explains. “Your brother’d have my head if I sent you home all bruised up.”

Kili nods, and they begin their match. The lad is fast and agile for a dwarf, aided by both his small size and his youth, and he finds it quite difficult to land a hit on him. Kili actually lands several good hits on him, ones that would have taken him down had they been done with a real sword. Soon enough, the lad’s fatigue begins to catch up with him. He is sure that Kili had been training for hours before he’d even set foot in the yard, and they’d been at it for a few hours themselves.

When Kili leaves an opening at his side again, Dwalin swoops in for the hit. He’d intended to only tap the lad, as promised, but Kili stumbled sideways, and he wound up hitting him with the full force of his swing, sending the lad face down in the dirt, gasping for breath.

“Shit!” he hissed under his breath. They’d been doing so well, he’d seen the confidence blooming in the lad’s movements. He’d be cross with himself for days if he’d managed to muck that up. “Are you alright, lad?” he asked as he pulled the boy up into a sitting position, straightening his back to help him catch the breath that had been knocked out of him.

Kili nodded, sucking in great gulps of breath as he did. “You said you wouldn’t hit me!” he accuses, but he wears a mirthful smile, and he sighs in relief.

“Should go without saying that you don’t want to fall on your opponent’s sword, yeah?” he jests as he pulls the lad up.

“I thought I asked you to help train my nephew, my friend, not send him sprawling into the dirt,” Thorin calls from the side of the training yard, where he is leaning against the fencing with an amused smile on his face.

Dwalin notes the look of apprehension that flits quickly across Kili’s face before he appears to become very interested in his boots. “Go and wash up a bit, will you?” he asks, and Kili turns to do as he’s told, jogging to the other side of the yard to wash his face and hands in the basin that rests there.

With Kili appropriately distracted, he strides over to Thorin. “You hurt him today,” he says simply, without preamble. “When you said he was of no concern,” he elaborates at the confusion that crosses his old friend’s face. “I suspect he thinks he’s shamed you.”

“He what?” Thorin whisper-shouts. “I didn’t think…”

“I know your reasoning,” Dwalin interrupts smoothly. “And I agree with you. The less Dain thinks of Kili, the better, but he doesn’t know that. All he sees is that you’re proud of Fili and not of him. He’s been out here training all day.”

Thorin frowns as he watches Kili gather his things. “I had not meant to hurt him,” he admits quietly.

“I know that,” Dwalin murmurs. “Just explain it to him; he’ll understand.”

\-----

Thorin lets his arm drop across Kili’s shoulders as they depart from the practice yard. “You held your own against Dwalin quite well today, from what I saw,” he praises, squeezing a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Kili murmurs quietly, his eyes still focused intently on the ground in front of him.

He sighs, fully realizing how deeply his words must have cut. When he’d uttered them he hadn’t even thought of how Kili would take them, hadn’t even considered how harsh they must have sounded to the boy’s ears. They fall into a heavy silence as they walk, and Kili looks up in surprise as the wall that barricades them into their alcove on the mountain comes into view. Thorin simply gestures to the ladder at its base, and Kili obediently climbs it.

The small smile that grazes Kili’s face when they reach the top reaffirms that he’s made a good decision. He sun is setting, painting the sky a myriad of colors and enhancing the green of the forest trees that rest just beyond their settlement. He knows Kili feels more at home with the trees and open air than he does in the mountain, and he cannot blame him. The first years of Fili and Kili’s lives were spent in such a place, and he knew they both felt stifled when they had to spend long periods of time under the mountain.

Thorin sits down, makes himself comfortable against the stone of the wall, and gestures for Kili to join him. At this time of day, it is private up on the wall. The night watchmen won’t climb it until the sun sets completely and they’ve returned from their patrols just to the outside. He gestures for Kili to sit next to him, smiling slightly at the way the lad tucks himself into his side as he wraps his arm around him.

Kili has always been affectionate, loving, and that is one of the things he most cherishes about his youngest sister-son, even if Balin constantly urges him to encourage the lad to grow out of it.

“Will you tell me what troubles you, little Kili?” he asks after a while.

It is a long while before Kili responds, and Thorin’s heart breaks just a little at his whispered question. “Are you ashamed of me?”

“Of course not,” he answers quickly as he squeezes him just a bit tighter. “Not in the slightest, my boy.”

“It’s just…” Kili’s voice cracks a little as he speaks. “You’re just so proud of Fee, and I try so hard to be like him but I can’t and I don’t want you to be ashamed of me because I’m not a proper dwarf and I just…”

“Stop,” he urges gently. “I am proud of Fili, and you are very, very different from your brother,” he admits and Kili makes a frustrated little noise from his side. “But that does not mean I am any less proud of you,” he soothes.

“But it’s not proper…”

“Kili!” he whisper-shouts in exasperation. “You are thinking in stereotypes, little one. What if all dwarrows were only good at weapons making and mining and sword fighting?”

“I dunno,” he murmurs softly, voice pitching higher in frustration.

“We’d have no food, for one,” he explains. “We need good hunters, and Dwalin thinks you’ll be one of the best, lad. Your skill with your bow will have us eating like kings as soon as you are able to go hunt with him!”

Kili looks up at him with watery eyes. “Really?” he asks.

“Really,” he confirms. “And you’re quite skilled with leather, aren’t you? You’ve made some wonderful hilts and scabbards and we’ve been able to sell our weapons for more because of that.”

Kili scrunches up his nose. “Gimli says leatherwork is for dwarrodams.”

“Gimli is a child,” he huffs out in frustration.

“Well so am I!” Kili retaliates.

Thorin sees his opening and takes it. “So why do you put so much pressure on yourself to be like an adult?”

Kili opens and closes his mouth a number of times in a spectacular imitation of a fish. “Because Fee does,” he settles on finally. “And I want to be like Fee.”

“Sweet little Kili,” Thorin chides gently. “Why do you wish to be so like him? There’s nothing wrong with being yourself.”

Kili mulls over his words for a moment. “Because he’s nice, and everyone loves him, and he’s always…he’s always taken care of me and one day I want to be able to take care of him,” he admits quietly.

“You will,” he murmurs; “of that I have no doubt. But you are forgetting that you are dearly loved as well. There is not a thing wrong with you lad, whether you are a so-called ‘proper’ dwarf or not; do you understand me?”

The lad nods against his side and murmurs, “yes, uncle.”

“And never think that I am not proud of you, Kili,” he adds. “I am sorry I caused you to doubt me.”

“You said I was of no concern,” he whispers, voice catching the tiniest bit.

He leans down to press a kiss against the boy’s temple. “I meant that you are of no concern to Dain and his men,” he explains. “I did not mean to cause you distress, but it is for the best that he not know much about you.”

“Oh,” Kili mumbles quietly.

“I only mean to keep you safe, my boy,” he continues. “You will understand better when you are older.”

Kili nods again, but doesn’t say anything else. Thorin hopes that he believes him; he does truly take great pride in both of his nephews, and he makes a mental note to show Kili more often. He has let himself forget about the lad’s insecurities with how caught up he has gotten in his own responsibilities.

“Come along, now,” he murmurs after a long moment, rising to his feet and helping Kili up as well. “Bombur’s invited us for supper, and I think we all could do with some washing up.”

The mention of food – specifically Bombur’s food – brings a smile to Kili’s face and he quickly rushes back to their home. It is enough lightheartedness to almost, almost convince him that he can keep the lads safe and unmarred from the troubles that have followed him his entire life.

Yet, when he takes in Fili’s anxious face as he finally returns with his little brother, he knows that things have already started to change, for worse or for better, he does not know, but there is nothing – nothing – he can do to stop it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Don’t forget to let me know what you think!


	10. Thirty-Four and Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Hello, sweetings! Shit’s about to get real. This is Part 1 of 3 for this age. The events in these three chapters were what originally inspired me to write this series, so hopefully the updates will come pretty quickly! As always, thank you so much for reading and commenting and liking and all that you do. You are all amazing, and I love you.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Potty words, Fili is an idiot, Kili is clueless, I use potty words, little bit of violence, and un-beta-ed because all three of my betas have dropped off the face of the planet, and my muses are getting OUT OF CONTROL.

As they stand at the gate to what will soon protect the Great Halls (Thorin’s Halls, as Nar insists upon calling them), he is filled with a swell of pride. It isn’t Erebor, it isn’t near as grand or extravagant as they are wont to have, but it will be a home for his people; a permanent, proper home for them to call their own after so many years of exile.

Kili presses closer to his side, wary gaze fixed on the darkness that lies beyond the gate. He knows the lad is apprehensive about being so far underground, so he slides an arm around his shoulders and squeezes gently.

“Come, lads. I wish to show you these halls; they will be your home soon enough.” Fili smiles brightly as he hands him a torch, clearly excited to finally get to tour the halls. Construction has been on going, and while only the main halls are finished, and very, very few of the residences have begun construction, he is eager to show his boys what they may inherit.

He has to tug at Kili just a bit to urge him inside the cavern. “You’ll get used to it, lad,” he soothes. The boy looks absolutely not convinced, but he obediently follows behind his uncle.

“Can it collapse?” he asks, and Thorin frowns to see Fili pull his hand away as his younger brother reaches for it. There’s been something going on between the two of them for months now, and he hasn’t yet been able to figure it out.

“No, it cannot,” he replies.

“But the mines…” Kili insists as they step into the pressing darkness, guided only by the torches that Thorin and Fili carry. “And Da.”

Fili answers for him. “That’s different, Kee,” he murmurs. “The mines follow the veins of gold and mithril in the mountain. Sometimes they lead to a weak spot in the stone, and that can make the cavern collapse.”

“When they build halls like these, they clear all of those weak spots,” he elaborates, pointing up to the ceiling at a slightly misshapen alcove. “The deeper into the mountain you go, the sturdier the rock is. That’s why we build the halls so deep in the mountain.”

“Oh,” he murmurs into the darkness, hands nervously twisting at the hem of his tunic. Thorin sighs, reaches back and grabs the lad’s hand. He glances to Fili’s face; frown deepening as he notices him pointedly looking away. He makes a mental note to corner his heir and make him explain what has been going on between the pair.

“You’re quite safe in here, lad” he soothes. “Safe from intruders, safe from the elements…it is a much better situation for our people.”

Kili nods but presses closer to his side. “It’s so dark,” he observes.

“Will we have to burn fires all the time to keep it lit?” Fili questions.

Thorin shakes his head as they press deeper into the mountain. “No. When the halls are closer to being finished, they will install a series of mirrors that will pull sunlight into the mountain.”

“Mirrors?” both lads ask at the same time.

“We can use them to reflect the sunlight down into the mountain,” he elaborates. “You’d have a mirror in each of your rooms and could adjust how bright or dark you want it.” He smiles slightly. “It’s quite nice, really; almost looks like you’re outside.”

The boys lapse back into silence as Thorin leads them through the halls, gesturing to different rooms and explaining their purpose. Eventually, the pathway they are following dead ends into the stone face of the mountain. Thorin smiles slightly and presses a hand against the stone.

“Feel this lads,” he calls. Fili immediately presses his palm flat against the stone, smile tugging at his lips as his eyes widen in wonder. Kili requires a bit of coaxing, and yanks his hand back as soon his fingers graze the stone.

“What is that?” he asks, cradling his hand against his chest as though it’s been burnt.

“The heart of the mountain,” he murmurs. “When you get deep enough, you can feel it.”

“It’s like the mountain is alive,” Fili breathes, excitement clear in his voice.

Thorin pats a hand on his shoulder. “Soon your rooms will be carved into this very spot. This will be your home, lads.”

Fili’s smile falters a bit. “It’s so deep though.”

“Will we have to stay underground all the time?” Kili asks.

Thorin’s elation at showing the lads the halls falters somewhat. “Well, no. I suppose you could spend your days outside, so long as you do not have any duties to attend to.”

They both visibly relax; Kili even sags slightly against his side. He feels disappointed that they are not as excited as he is, but he understands that this, living underground, while completely natural to him, is something that his boys have never encountered.

“You would grow used to it,” he murmurs again as he rubs Kili’s shoulder comfortingly. “Come then. Balin will be cross if I keep you from getting to your lessons on time.”

As he silently leads them from the halls, he can’t help but feel as though something has been lost that he simply cannot get back.

\-----

“Kili would you just stop!” Fili shouts, exasperated beyond belief as he slams his palm down to the table. “Just shut up!”

Kili freezes from across the table, where he had been diligently chopping up the vegetables and meats for their evening’s stew and describing his shooting practice with Dwalin in great detail. Fili curses himself at the hurt look that flashes across his brother’s features.

He has to do this. He has a plan and it will keep Kili safe and he will see it done, no matter how much it hurts. He bites his lip to stop the apology he can feel welling up in his throat. ‘It’s for his own good,’ he reminds himself yet again.

“Sorry,” Kili murmurs, eyes downcast as he returns to his chore. Fili focuses very hard on the notes Balin had given him that morning, wills himself to commit the facts about Durin the Deathless to memory. He was to be quizzed on the information tomorrow, and he needed to know it.

Somehow, the uncharacteristic silence from his brother distracts him more than his prattling about his training. He only lasts a few minutes longer before he flees the kitchen for the relative safety of their shared bedroom.

He has to do this.

\-----

“Fee’s mad at me again,” Kili complains as he and Ori head back to the marketplace from their lessons. 

Ori frowns at him. “What makes you think that?”

He sighs. “He just…I dunno. I bother him all the time, I guess. He doesn’t act like he wants me around anymore.”

“Brothers just do that sometimes,” his friend murmurs. “Nori acts like that to me all the time. Gets into his own foul moods and acts a right terror to everyone.”

“But he’s thirty years older than you; that makes sense. You’re not close with him like me and Fee are.” He groans. “Fili is only five years older and he acts like he’s grown and I’m just a baby.”

Ori shrugs. “Maybe he’s under a lot of pressure from Mister Balin? He’s started to get a lot more training on being Thorin’s heir, hasn’t he?”

“Yea,” Kili confirms, scuffing his boots as he walks. “I guess that’s all. It just that…sometimes…”

“Sometimes what?” Ori questions as he grabs Kili’s shoulder and stops their walking. “Kili?”

“I just think he hates me sometimes,” he murmurs. He shakes his head and shrugs. “You’re probably right though.”

“If he stressed then maybe you could get him something nice to cheer him up?” Ori suggests. “Or make him a new dagger or something?”

“I’m no good at smithing; you know that,” Kili murmurs, almost bitterly. “Though I could probably carve something for him.”

“I’ll bet Thorin would make the blade for you if you asked him to,” Ori supplies. “He’d probably even help you make it, if you wanted to.”

Kili bites his lip for a moment, thinking. It would be a nice gift, and surely something to pull his brother out of whatever foul mood had seized him for months on end. He could make one that would fit just inside his bracers, could carve the hilt himself, maybe even do some etchings on the blade to make it an even grander gift.

Smiling brightly at his friend, he nods. “I think that’s a perfect idea, Ori!”

\-----

“Uncle?” Kili calls out over the din of the forge. He knows he needs to be as sneaky as possible if he wants to keep his surprise intact, especially knowing that Fili is working with Dwalin just a few feet away. “Can I speak with you outside?”

Thorin casts him a confused glance as he wipes his brow, but nods and sets his work aside for the moment.

“Does something trouble you, Kili?” he asks as soon as the door swings shut behind him.

He shakes his head. “I was hoping you’d help me make something, if you weren’t too busy,” he says, fidgeting with his hands slightly. He pulls a piece of parchment from his pocket and shows his uncle the tentative plans he has made for the dagger.

Thorin raises an eyebrow at him. “And is this for someone in particular?” he asks. “You’re a bit young for courting gifts, aren’t you?” he jests, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Courting…?” Kili wrinkles his nose in disgust. “What? No! I wanted to make it for Fee!”

Thorin laughs lightly. “I was only teasing you, lad,” he murmurs. “For your brother, then. Why? His birthday was not two months ago.”

“I know,” Kili concedes. “But he’s been in a bad mood lately. I think he is stressed about whatever he is learning from Mister Balin.” The lad frowns just the slightest bit. “I just want to give him something that will cheer him up is all.”

His uncle looks very thoughtful for a moment, before he nods and moves to head back inside. “Grab an apron, lad. This shouldn’t take more than the afternoon to complete.”

\-----

“Fili?” he calls into the sitting room. “Could you come here for a moment, please?” He hears the sound of a book closing and feet dragging across the cold stone floor.

“Yes, Uncle?” his heir responds as he pokes his head through the door. He looks tired, frazzled and worn. Balin had not mention anything about him struggling in his studies, and Dwalin was still singing the lad’s praises in his weapons and forge training, but it was still very evident that there was something troubling his eldest sister-son.

“Come in, lad,” he murmurs. “Sit,” he adds, gesturing to one of the two large armchairs that sit opposite of his desk. The desk is strewn with papers and maps and letters, and he means to clean it up, but he has just been so busy. He’d barely had any time to spend with his nephews, had barely even noticed the rising tension between them.

Fili picks at the hem of his tunic, his eyes downcast, and says nothing.

“You seem troubled, lad,” he observes.

Fili just sighs and sinks farther into the cushion.

Thorin frowns. “Tell me,” he urges.

“There’s just…” the lad mumbles, hesitating. “There’s a lot to learn. Some things I don’t like to know about. I don’t…” His voice trails off and he makes no move to continue, but Thorin still allows him the time to gather his thoughts.

He knows it is unlike Fili to be so distant. Even if he isn’t voicing his troubles to Thorin, he’s always sharing them with Kili. The fact that his youngest sister-son was just as clueless to his behavior as of late only unsettled him further. Fili was acting like him, brooding and shutting everyone else out, and he knew from a great deal of experience how unhealthy that was.

“Sometimes I just wish I wasn’t your heir, I guess,” he finally mumbles, his eyes still downcast and his shoulders hunched, clearly ashamed with his admission.

To Thorin, it feels like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t know quite what to say. Yes, it could be a burden to be a crown prince, but one day he would be king, would be loved by all of his kin and respected by all others in Middle Earth. Only…there was no kingdom for him to rule. There were no subjects who adored and respected him. He was a prince in name only, had never experienced any of the luxuries that came with his title. He had instead been only burdened with the hard knowledge, the impossible expectations that he struggled to live up to.

Thorin wondered just how much pressure Fili was putting on himself, how much pressure he’d let the lad put on himself without helping him through it.

“Are you disappointed in me?” he asks quietly, chancing a glance up at his uncle through his fringe.

“Of course not,” he murmurs, honesty clear in his voice. “I hadn’t thought…I hadn’t considered how hard this must be for you, my boy. I’m sorry.”

Fili’s head snaps up; he’s clearly surprised by his uncle’s understanding.

“It is easy for me to forget that you are being trained to rule a kingdom that doesn’t exist right now, that you’re learning the laws and customs of a people long forgotten.” He sighs, gnaws at his bottom lip for a moment. “Perhaps we should lighten on your training a bit?”

The lad ardently shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he interjects. “If we go back to Erebor soon then I want to know; I don’t want to have to play catch up.” He sighs and fidgets with the hem of his tunic. “It’s…I can handle it, Uncle. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Thorin frowns. “You wouldn’t fall too far behind in a few weeks,” he reasons. “And it would be nice to have your help around the forge.”

“I can handle this, Uncle,” Fili tries again. “I won’t let you down. I don’t need to stop my training.”

“I have no doubts that you can manage this, Fili,” he murmurs soothingly. “But there is not a thing wrong with taking a break, with asking for help.”

Fili clearly looks put out by this new information.

“I’ll inform Balin in the morning,” he affirms just as Fili starts to protest once more. “It will be good for you, lad. Even your brother is starting to worry for you.”

Fili’s mouth snaps shut at that comment. He murmurs something under his breath that Thorin doesn’t catch, but he doesn’t question it. The lad thanks him quietly as he leaves, but Thorin can’t manage to shake the feeling that something is still decidedly off with his heir.

\-----

If he is honest with himself (and sometimes he is not), he has enjoyed his past week off from Balin’s lessons. He’s still been allowed to spar with Dwalin and Gloin when they have the time, and he’s had a lot of work to do at the forge, but he has immensely enjoyed the copious amount of free time he’s found himself saddled with. It has lightened his heart, quite a bit, really.

It helps that, though he has been given a respite from his lessons, Kili has not (something his brother has pouted about on more than one occasion thus far). The only times he has seen his brother has been for meal times and to sleep. It gives him plenty of time to think, gives him time to figure out the next stages of his plan.

He’s mostly done with the first part. Kili is becoming more and more distant from him each day. It had started as soon as he’d requested the separate beds from their uncle just after his thirtieth. Oh, the look of betrayal in Kili’s eyes had stung, but he had to do this.

Balin was right; they were too close, and Kili loved far too deeply for his own good.

It was little things after that – refusing to hold his hand if he was scared, pushing him from his bed if Kili crawled in after a nightmare, acting disinterested in the stories Kili would tell – little things that he could see building and building in his brother. But it wasn’t enough. Kili still reached for him, still crawled into his bed when he was scared, still tried. He needed to do something more.

If he were to truly make Kili hate him, he’d have to do something much, much more. He just doesn’t know what it will take.

“Fee!” his brother calls out as soon as he bursts back into their home. He is obviously excited; his entire form is positively vibrating with energy. He is covered in a fine layer of soot a smells distinctively of hot metal. He must have made something half-decent at the forge, finally.

He steels himself. He has to do this. It’s for Kili’s own good.

“Look, Fee!” he exclaims once he’s rounded the chair he is sprawled in, something small and wrapped in cloth in his hands.

Without thinking of his plan, he obediently takes the object from Kili and pulls the cloth back. The dagger that sits inside is very well made, if he’s honest with himself (but he’s not, most of the time anyhow). It is lightweight but feels sturdy enough, slender as it may be. The blade itself has light etchings carved along it, for allowing blood to flow easily off the blade as well as for decoration. The hilt is made of oak, carved to look like the very tree the wood has come from and polished so that it is nearly as gleaming as the blade itself.

“Did you make this?” he asks as he turns the blade over in his hands to inspect it further.

Kili nods, smile brighter than the sun on his face. “I made it for you. See?” he points to the bottom of the hilt where, sure enough, among the grooves and patterns of tree bark, Fili’s sigil is carved into it. He feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. It’s the finest thing Kili has ever made, and he’d made it for him.

“I know you’ve been working really hard, nadad,” Kili continues, and his smile falters ever so slightly. “I know I’ve been annoying you…and I’m just…” The smile fades completely when his little brother ducks his head. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I just want you to be happy again.”

With Kili looking away, he bites down hard, early grinding his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t want to do this.

But he has to. It’s for Kili’s own good.

“Well you’re not going to make me any happier by giving me such a rubbish dagger,” he grinds out, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

As expected, Kili turns disbelieving, hurt eyes up to look at him. He carelessly tosses the dagger toward the fire, not into it, not wanting to undo all of his brother’s hard work. Kili’s gaze stays on the discarded gift, even as he stands and pushes past him. He can feel that he is dangerous close to crying, he hates what he’s done (‘You have to do this,’ he reminds himself), hates that he’s hurting Kili on purpose, sweet little Kili who has never truly wronged him in all his life.

He only makes it about three steps before Kili shoves him hard in the back.

Well. That was unexpected.

“What’s the matter with you?” his brother snaps, and when he turns to look back at him, he can see the hurt and the anger burning in his gaze. “You’ve been a fine arsehole for months and I haven’t done anything to deserve it!”

“Oh please,” he hears himself yelling back. “You’ve no idea, do you? How much of a burden you are?”

Real, genuine hurt flashes across Kili’s face, and for a moment he nearly stalls out, nearly stops his tirade to beg for his brother’s forgiveness. But he has to do this. He has to push him away, as far away as he can get him.

“I’m not…I didn’t mean to…” Kili flounders, turning tear-filled eyes up to his brother.

He scoffs. “Look, and now you’ll cry again. You’ll cry and run to Uncle and make him take care of you. It’s childish. Pathetic.” His words taste like ash in his mouth.

“I am a child!” Kili snaps back. “I’m allowed to be sad and be scared and cry if I feel like it!” He takes in a shaking breath. “You’re not grown, Fee. You think you’re better than me, than Ori and all the other dwarflings but you’re not.” He takes in another, deeper breath to steady himself. “You’re not grown. You don’t have to act like it.”

His resolve quavers. Kili is right, one hundred percent, and he knows it. His brother must see his moment of weakness, for he reaches out and places a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“You’re not, Fee,” he affirms. “You’re still a child too.”

He wrenches himself away from his little brother as hard as he can. “I am a prince,” he snaps. “And one day I will be king. And what will you be?” he jeers. “You’ll still just be a mopey little dwarfling, Kili. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

In truth, he doesn’t expect the swing that Kili takes at him. In truth, he is acting on pure instinct from years of training when he easily dodges it. In truth, he hadn’t felt his hand balling up into a fist, hadn’t felt it when it smashed into Kili’s cheek and sent him careening to the floor.

But he sure did feel his heart shatter at the absolutely broken look Kili shot up at him as he righted himself, disbelief and hurt and betrayal and anger all mixed into one.

Too far; he’s gone too far.

“Kee,” he murmurs softly, stooping and reaching for his brother who pulls back from him.

“Don’t,” Kili warns, his voice tight, on the edge of tears that Fili knows he’s only keeping in because of his own words.

“Nadadith,” he calls again as Kili rights himself, hand cupping his cheek. No, no, no. This is too much. This was a stupid plan. He was stupid. He’d gone too far; all of this had gone too far. “Kili, please; I didn’t…” he stammers out as he reaches for him again.

“Stay away from me,” Kili murmurs, his voice trembling. “Go away.” He makes for their bedroom, but Fili is too numb to follow him until the sound of the door slamming shut and the bolt sliding into place snaps him out of it.

He runs to the door, uselessly tries then handle and nearly screams in frustration when he knows he cannot open it. “Kili, open the door,” he begs, slapping his open palm against the heavy wooden door. “Please, Kili.”

No sound comes from the other side, no muffled movements, no shuffling feet, no muted sobs. Nothing comes from his little brother, his precious baby brother. How could he have ever thought this would work? That this could be right. No, no, no. He’d ruined everything. He’d loose Kili and it would be his own damn fault.

But that had been the plan, hadn’t it?

He sinks down to his knees, presses his forehead against the door as he sighs out a sob. “Please,” he begs one more time before breaking down entirely.

Silence is his only answer.

\-----

Thorin wipes a tired hand across his face. Balin’s news had been a heavy blow to him. There was already far too much going on now, with all of the work they had at the forge and the building of the great halls, sidelined by the fact that winter was fast approaching and he worried he would have barely enough coin to secure supplies to get them through it. Dealing with Dain on top of all of that…he couldn’t focus on that right now. He’d have a week at least to formulate some sort of plan.

He’s only just gotten himself in the house, has only managed to toe off his boots at the door when he hears the muffled crying. “Boys?” he calls, concerned when there is no response. He hastily removes the rest of his gear, haphazardly throwing his weapons to the floor in his rush to find out what is going on.

He expects to find Kili brooding over one thing or another, Fili perhaps comforting him. He does not, in a million years, expect to find Fili hunched in front of the door to his room, shoulders shaking violently as soft sobs wrench their way from his throat.

“Fili,” he breathes out, panic lacing his voice. He kneels next to his heir, immediately begins searching him over for any hurts, becoming more concerned when he finds none. He reaches up to cup the lads cheek and presses their foreheads together. “Fili, lad. Tell me what’s wrong,” he urges.

“I’m so stupid,” he sobs out. “I thought…I thought it was a good plan but it’s stupid. I’ve ruined everything.”

His words are hard to make out with how fiercely his voice quakes from the force of his sobs. “Nothing is ruined, my boy,” he soothes, bringing his free hand around to rub his arm comfortingly. “Whatever this is, it can be fixed.”

“It can’t!” he whisper shouts as he lets his head drop to Thorin’s shoulder. “I hit Kili, Uncle! He’s never going to speak to me again.” He dissolves completely into sobs then, and Thorin can do little more than wrap his arms tightly around him.

He reaches up to try the handle, and he is unsurprised to find the door locked. “Kili?” he calls. “Are you alright?”

For a moment, there is nothing more than Fili’s quieting sobs. “M’fine, Uncle,” Kili murmurs, sounding anything but.

He finally decides that Fili is his most pressing concern, so he urges the lad to his feet and practically drags him to their sitting room, settles him into one of the armchairs before kneeling on the floor in front of him. He grasps the lad’s face in his hand and shakes him gently.

“Fili, look at me,” he urges. Clearly, he has underestimated how stressed the lad has been recently. He’d seen the rising tension between the brothers, but he’d assumed it had just been a side effect of Fili’s struggles with his own duties. He had hoped that the week off from his studies would have diffused the situation. Evidently, he’d been very, very wrong.

“Such a stupid plan,” Fili mutters out, and Thorin is mildly pleased to see that he is starting to breathe easier, that his sobs are starting to lessen.

“What plan, lad?” he asks, cupping Fili’s face in his hand again and brushing his cheek with his thumb.

Fili coughs out a sob. “To make Kili hate me,” he explains, before dissolving into another fit of tears.

“To what?” he barks out, shocked to his core. “Why would you…?”

“Because if he hates me he won’t die for me!” Fili interrupts with a whispered shout. “If he hates me, he’s safe.”

The sudden realization of just what Fili had been intending to do, of what he’d been doing for months, dumbfounds him. “That’s ridiculous,” he murmurs. “You can’t have thought that would work?”

“I…I just had thought that…” Fili struggles to find the right words, and he eventually stops trying to.

“I…I will be honest with you, my boy,” he murmurs quietly. “When I was just a bit older than you, I thought the same thing.”

Fili turns tear-filled eyes up to him. “What?”

“We were on the road, traveling from place to place…one more than one occasion I made very sure to leave him behind.” He feels a slight smile tugging at his lips. “But the trouble with little brothers is that, no matter what you throw at them, they still just…love you. They follow you to the ends of the Earth.”

Fili’s face crumples.

“I’d bet all of the gold in Erebor that if I were to ask Kili what was wrong, he would say that you hate him,” he continues, keeping his tone level and soothing. “I don’t think it could ever be possible for him to hate you, no matter what you’ve done.”

The lad shudders slightly. “I…I wish he would,” he murmurs finally.

“You don’t” Thorin corrects. “As much as you hurt right now, with just the thought that you may have made him hate you? You would want that forever?”

Fili sags deeper into the cushions. “No. No, I don’t want that at all,” he admits. He looks exhausted, looks aged well beyond his years.

“You should sleep, Fili,” he murmurs.

Fili shakes his head. “I need to talk to Kee,” he insists. “I need to apologize.”

“You are exhausted. You need to sleep,” he urges. “You can use my room for the night. I will tend to Kili for now.”

“No, Uncle, please,” he protests again, though much weaker this time.

Thorin presses a kiss to his forehead. “How long?” he asks. He needs to know how long Fili has placed this burden upon himself, needs to know just how much he’d missed.

Fili chews his lip for a moment before answering. “Since Mister Balin taught me about spares,” he admits.

Four years. This had been going on for four years, and he’d been completely blind to it. Kili had never come to him with concerns about his brother, not until last week. Fili had not shared his fears and doubts with him. When they were younger, they’d told him everything. But now…they were growing up. Soon, sooner than he’d like, they’d be full-grown and would barely need him at all.

“Sleep, Fili,” he commands again, running a hand through the lad’s tangled hair. “You can speak with your brother in the morning.”

Fili finally nods his ascent, and Thorin is almost positive that he’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

He sighs heavily as he pulls the door to his bedroom closed. One nephew tended to; one more to go.

“Kili, lad,” he calls as he raps his knuckles lightly against the door. “Won’t you let me in, please?”

He hears nothing from inside the room for a moment, until the quiet sound of the lock sliding open breaks through the silence. The door doesn’t open, but he takes it as an invitation anyway and pushes the door forward. He almost misses the lad when he steps into the room, as he’s huddled beside the door, back pressed against the wall and knees hugged tight to his chest.

“I tried really hard,” he whispers as Thorin sits beside him. His cheek is only lightly bruised; truthfully he had been expecting much worse with how upset Fili had been. “I tried really hard but it still didn’t help. I just made everything worse.”

He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around his youngest. “You’ve done no such thing,” he soothes gently. “This is…this is out of your control, my boy. This is for Fili to figure out.”

Kili sighs and presses his cheek against his uncle’s chest. “I just want to help,” he murmurs.

“You do,” he assures the lad. “Fili…well, I have set him straight again, I think. He got the idea into his head that you’d be better off if you hate him.”

Kili’s head snaps up, confusion marring his features. “Why would he think such a stupid thing?”

Thorin just barely resists the urge to chuckle at his youngest sister son. “You will understand when you are older.”

The lad’s eyes narrow the tiniest bit. “I don’t want to understand when I’m older; I want to understand now.”

He sighs, knowing that he owes some sort of explanation to the boy, knowing that he needs to tell him something to repair the rift that is ever growing between the two of them. “Remember when I told you that, though both of you are truly princes of Erebor, you will have very different duties?”

Kili nods silently, picking at an invisible piece of lint on his pants.

“Well, Fili has started to learn of his duties, and I think it has overwhelmed him a bit,” he explains. “That is why he has been acting so strangely; he thinks he has bitten off more than he can handle. He hasn’t, not really, but I think he sees that now.” He sighs and brings a hand up to card through the lad’s unbraided hair. “Think of Balin and Dwalin; they are both sons of a dwarf lord of high standing in Erebor. After you lads and my cousin Dain, they are next in line for the throne.”

“I didn’t know that,” Kili says quietly.

“I am not surprised; Balin has not yet started your lessons on being a prince,” he replies. “But think on this: Fili’s tasks are much more like Balin’s. He must be a scholar, must be very familiar with the laws and politics associated with our culture. He must also be a warrior, a strong one that others can look up to and follow for guidance. You, little one, will grow to be much like Dwalin. You will be in charge of managing and training Erebor’s armies, and you will be expected to protect your king and crown prince, once you are of age.”

“I’m going to be like Mister Dwalin?” Kili murmurs, just a hint of awe in his voice.

Thorin smiles lightly. “In time, yes.”

Kili is thoughtful for a moment before frowning. “But why is that making Fee upset?”

“Oh, it’s not truly that,” he lies. “In truth, he struggles over the thought that you’ll one day be in charge of protecting him, since he’s spent so much time taking care of you. It was hard for me to do with your Uncle Frerin as well, but it is a transition we all must make. He just feels an immense amount of pressure right now, and that is partly my own fault.”

The lad peers up at him. “How?”

“I have been neglecting my boys, haven’t I?” he asks, and from the way Kili’s eyes fall to the floor, he knows he is right. “I have gotten too busy with other things, kept saddling your brother with more and more responsibilities, and I have pushed him too far.” He sighs heavily. “Had I not been so consumed with my own dealings, I would have seen your brother’s turmoil sooner. I am to blame for his lashing out at you, lad. And I am sorry.”

Kili is quiet for a moment. He honestly expects the lad to argue with him, to be as stubborn as he certainly was at that age (and still is, truthfully). “S’fine, Uncle,” he murmurs eventually. “Is Fee going to be alright?”

He squeezes the boy a little tighter against his side. “He will; I am sure of it. But I need you to promise me one thing,” he adds, and Kili looks up at him expectantly. “If this ever starts happening again, this thing where he pushes you away or stops talking to you? You let me know right away.” He sighs. “Your brother is his worst critic. He will continue to push himself too far if we let him. And I…well; I haven’t been as vigilant as I should have been. So you’ll help me, won’t you?”

Kili gives him a small smile in return. “Yes, Uncle.”

“I fear…” he starts, rubbing Kili’s arm gently when he feels the lad tense beside him. “I fear your brother will need your support in these coming years.”

“I’ll do anything to help him,” Kili murmurs, without any hesitation. “I mean it.”

He presses a kiss to his youngest sister-son’s temple. “Thank you,” he barely whispers, but from the way Kili’s arms wind their way around his shoulders in a warm and affirming hug, he knows he’s been heard.

\-----

Hours later, once he has finally coaxed Kili into bed and affirmed that Fili is sleeping peacefully, he finds himself perched on his armchair in front of the fire. He should be sleeping, he knows. He is exhausted and is running himself ragged – his perceived negligence of his nephews is proof enough of that – but there is so much more he needs to get done.

He stares down at the blasted piece of parchment the raven had brought earlier that afternoon, reads the words once more, even though he’d committed it to memory before he’d ever returned home.

Thorin, son of Thror, son of Train, King Under the Mountain, and Heir, Fili, son of Dis, are hereby summoned to court with Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills to be held in Bree, beginning at the dawn of Autumn. The Lord of the Iron Hills wishes to validate the legitimacy of this potential Heir to Erebor. It is requested that the Heir’s tutor, Balin, son of Fundin, and weapons master, Dwalin, son of Fundin, attend court as well.

Should you choose to refuse this invitation to attend court, the Heir will be considered invalid, and the Lord of the Iron Hills will stake his claim to the throne of the Lonely Mountain.

He grinds his teeth, trying very hard to quell the rage he was feeling. Dain was pushing his hand far sooner than he had anticipated, and was being sneakier than he would like. He was, undoubtedly, backed into a corner, and the tension between his nephews, alleviated as it may be for the evening, was not helping things. 

He rubbed a tired hand down his face as he fought the urge to cry.

Damn that dragon. Damn him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh shit’s about to get real. Thanks for reading, friends. You’re amazing!


	11. Thirty-Four and Twenty-Eight - Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili and Thorin travel to Bree with Dwalin and Balin for a long-awaited meeting with Dain, Lord of the Iron Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – I am so, so sorry that this has taken me so long to finish. I am still not 100% happy with it, but I don’t think I am going to make it any better anytime soon. I hope you enjoy this chapter! Thank you all so much for being so supportive and loving of me and this story.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Potty words, Fili has Filings, Poppa Bear Thorin, angstttttt (way more than I intended; my bad).

It is late when he returns home.

They are to leave at first light if they have any hope of making it to Bree before autumn begins, and he’d needed to ensure that all of their ponies were properly saddled and stocked with all of the supplies they’d required for their journey. He should still be able to grab a few blessed hours of sleep before dawn, at least.

He smiles slightly as he nears his home. One of his nephews must have stoked the fire before going to bed, as the front room window glows with warmth. It is a small comfort, one that he knows he will miss once they are on the road. He does not expect to see one of his nephews still awake, curled up in one of the armchairs that face the fire, but he is unsurprised nonetheless.

“You should be sleeping, lad,” he murmurs. “You’ve a big day tomorrow.”

“Big day of bein’ left behind, you mean,” Kili mutters, almost bitterly, and Thorin cannot blame him. He has only had to separate the lad from his family on very rare occasions, and every time he had entrusted the care of his youngest sister-son to Dwalin and Balin. Now, with the brothers accompanying Fili and himself to Bree, Kili was truly being left behind.

“We’ve discussed this,” he says gently, coming around to squat in front of the chair, gently pulling the carving the lad was working on from his hands. “It is safer for you.”

Kili sighs as he lets his head fall against the back of the chair. “I know,” he mutters despondently. “But I just…I just thought I’d be older, I suppose. And Fee is still so…” he waves with his hands as he tries and fails to find the right words.

“I know the timing is not ideal,” he says as he cups the lad’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. “Six months is not so long a time, after all.”

Kili frowns hard at him, and when he blinks a few tears manage to slide down his cheeks. “What if you don’t come back?”

“Oh, my hofukel,” he whispers, maneuvering the lad so that he is able to sit on the chair and pull him into his arms, despite how big he is getting. “You mustn’t let such dark thoughts in. We will be back with the spring; I promise you.”

Kili curls instinctively against him, ducks his head under his chin as his arms wrap around to hold him close. “I’m scared,” he admits, and Thorin hates that he can feel how badly he is shaking. “I’m so scared that you won’t come back.” The lad’s small hands tangle in his hair, fingers curled around the strands like a lifeline.

He doesn’t quite know what to do for him. He has no words of comfort to offer him, no solid reassurances he can give; he has nothing but their embrace and the same promise of return he’s uttered the entire week. Eventually, he starts humming a lullaby that his mother used to sing to him, one that he has long forgotten the words to. When Kili’s trembling stops and his breathing evens out in sleep, he doesn’t have the heart to wake him and put him back in his own bed. Sighing, he gives up on his desire for one last nights sleep in his warm and comfortable bed and hugs Kili closer as he finally drifts off.

\-----

“All right then laddies; we look to be all set,” Balin declares as he smoothes a hand across his pony’s mane. “We’ll need to get a move on, soon.”

Fili glances at the small company that will be travelling to Bree alongside him – his uncle, Dwalin, Balin, and three of the dwarrows from the town guard – before turning back to his brother. Kili is standing with Bofur, who looks like he just rolled out of bed to retrieve the lad, but has a hand gently resting on his shoulder. Right; it’s time for goodbyes. He watches, smoothing his fingers along the braid Kili had crafted into his hair just hours ago, as his elders bid his little brother farewell.

Balin claps a hand on his shoulder, tells him to finish all of the reading he’s left for him, but wears a smile to show that he’s not overly serious. Dwalin is uncharacteristically tender as he leans down to knock their foreheads together gently, murmuring for him to “train hard” while they are gone. Thorin envelops him into a warm hug, squeezes him tight and presses a kiss against his temple. He tells him to mind Bofur, to stay out of trouble, and whispers that he loves him.

Then it’s his turn. Thorin, Dwalin, and Balin busy themselves with their ponies to give them an illusion of privacy, and he is enormously grateful as he gathers his baby brother in his arms and hugs him as tight as he dares.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Kili mumbles from where his face is pressed against his neck.

“I won’t,” he promises easily, kissing the crown of his head. “You neither,” he murmurs.

Kili nods and squeezes him a little bit closer. “Love you,” he whispers, and Fili can tell how close he is to tears from the quiver in his voice.

“Love you,” he whispers back. Thorin clears his throat from behind him, so he pulls away from his baby brother. He catches the lad’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. “I’ll see you soon, alright?” he asks, brushing his thumbs along Kili’s cheeks to wipe away the few tears that have escaped.

His brother gives him a watery smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Course,” he murmurs. Kili’s hands fall away from him to hang limply at his sides, and he looks so despondent that Fili presses one more kiss against his forehead. He knows he’s treated his brother horribly lately, knows that Kili has forgiven him, but is still terrified to leave him behind, terrified to leave things as broken as he feels they are, terrified that Kili will have decided that forgiving him had been a reckless, stupid mistake, that he won’t return home to a warm smile, that he’ll instead be faced with coldness from his little brother.

Then Thorin’s hand is on his shoulder, gently easing him away. “Come on, lad,” he murmurs softly, and Fili turns to follow. “Don’t look back,” his uncle urges. “It’s harder to leave if you look back.”

He takes the reigns of his pony and follows their company down the path that leads to the forest, never once looking back, following his uncle’s instructions despite the longing and pain in his chest. He’s not even out of Kili’s sight yet and he misses him fiercely.

If he would have looked behind him, he would have seen Kili press his face against Bofur’s side, would have seen the toymaker’s arm drape around him and rub at his back comfortingly, would have seen his brother’s shoulders shaking with the force of his tears. If he would have looked behind him, he would have lost all of his resolve to go on this journey, would have abandoned his responsibilities in favor of his brother.

He doesn’t look back, but Thorin does, and from the pain and regret that flashes across his uncle’s face, he’s glad he hasn’t.

\-----

He’d only traveled with Thorin a handful of times, and only to Fairfield, the town of men that sat farther down the mountain than their own settlement. That was only a half-day’s walk, a trip that didn’t even require ponies or tents or any of the other supplies they carried with them now.

He wasn’t truly sure what he had expected from their journey to Bree, but the crushing boredom and constant riding definitely was not it. It left him with too much time for thinking let him dwell far too long on the mistakes he’d been making for the past few years. He’d mucked things up with Kili, no matter how much his little brother insisted he hadn’t, and he’d no time to make amends before being shoved off on this journey.

He hated it.

Every now and then, Balin will break up the silence with historical stories, and Dwalin adds embellishments (but only when his brother allows it; most of the time the warrior is cut off with a stern glare from his elder), but it is still so dry and boring. The guardsmen that travel with them chat amicably enough; one of them is due to be married to his One in the summer after they return, so their conversations hold no real interest for Fili at all.

Thorin is mostly silent, aside from asking Fili if he is feeling all right each night, and explaining where they are and showing him where he expects them to travel during the day each morning. He can feel how anxious his uncle is, feels how it grows with each step they take closer to Bree. He wants to know more of what happened between his uncle and the Lord of the Iron Hills, what makes it so that Dain can lay claim to the throne just because he thinks Fili might be illegitimate.

By the fifth day, his curiosity is killing him, so he asks.

He waits until Thorin has sidled his pony next to his own, waits until the guardsmen are a little farther ahead to give them some sense of privacy. “I don’t understand how Dain can just stake his claim on Erebor if he thinks I’m not a proper heir,” he comments, trying his best to sound as nonchalant as possible.

“Lord Dain,” Balin corrects with a huff. “Honestly, lad, have you learned nothing from me?”

“He has long been after the throne,” Thorin cuts in sharply. “It is…generally frowned upon to have a king whose lineage comes from his mother.”

Dwalin mutters something under his breath that he doesn’t quite catch, but it earns him a sharp glare from Balin, and a hissed, “You’d best get all of those disrespectful words out of your mouth before we arrive, brother.”

“Since I have no sons of my own,” Thorin continues, although he now wears a small smile at the Fundin brothers’ antics, “Dain would be next in line. If it is true that he only just learned of your, and your brother’s, existence, then he’s likely angry. He’s lived most of his life believing that the throne will somehow fall to him, either through marriage to your mother or through my eventual demise.” He sighs. “He will no doubt seek to make you appear weak, unfit for the throne…”

“He’s a boy,” Dwalin grumbles. “I’d understand such nonsense if the lad were of age, but that’s more than forty years away. There’s no sense in testing him until he’s been properly trained”

Balin sighs. “It is all a bit suspicious. I’ll grant him the emissaries; that was a wise choice, to verify the existence of the lads, but this…”

Panic claws its way up Fili’s spine. He hadn’t thought – hadn’t even considered that this visit would be anything other than routine. He didn’t know the customs of court or the appropriate etiquette or what was truly expected of him. He knew how to greet others appropriately, how to hold his tongue and speak only when asked, and of the history of his line, but everything else, everything a king was supposed to know, was completely foreign to him.

“Do not fret, Fili,” Thorin soothes. “You will be kept safe, Dwalin and I will see to that.”

“And as your tutor I will certainly speak on your behalf about your education to ease any tension caused by gaps in your knowledge,” Balin adds as Dwalin nods stiffly. “You need only to focus on keeping yourself calm and level headed.”

“What if he thinks I am unfit to be your heir?” he asks quietly, hating the slight tremble in his voice. He desperately does not want to let his uncle down, not after failing Kili so badly.

“His opinion matters little to me,” Thorin all but snarls. “He gets nothing until my death, by any means, and by then we will have reclaimed Erebor and you will be named the prince you were born to be.”

“And once he lays eyes on you he’ll have no doubts that you’re of Durin’s line,” Balin adds, small smile tugging at his features, trying to diffuse the potential situation Thorin’s foul mood may cause. “Coloring aside, you look more like your mum with each passing day.”

His comment achieves his goal, as Thorin’s scowl gives way to the barest hint of a smile. “That you do, lad.”

It gives Fili a sense of peace to hear that. There is not a day that passes that he doesn’t think of his mother, of both his parents. It is a small comfort to him to know that he has a piece of her always. Idly, he wonders if it gives his uncle comfort as well, or if it reminds him of what he has lost.

“Kili is starting to look like Frerin,” Dwalin adds. “The nose especially; though, his coloring is all yours, Thorin.”

Fili frowns. “I thought he looked more like Da?” His memories of his father are far hazier than those of his mother. His mother had been a constant presence in his life, but his father had worked often when he was younger, particularly when they’d learned she was with child once more.

“He did when he was younger,” Thorin explains. “Though the more he grows the more he comes to resemble my brother.”

“Oh,” Fili mumbles. “That’s seems odd, since they share a name day and all.”

Thorin visibly stiffens and Balin shoots him a warning glare indicating that he is not to reveal that he knows anything more about his departed uncle. Fili sheepishly shrugs his shoulders as a way of apology, and Dwalin quickly turns the conversation to something less sensitive.

Thorin does not speak again that day besides bidding him a good night.

\-----

“There’s something…familiar about this place,” Fili murmurs a couple of days later. It doesn’t look particularly different – they’re still surrounded by lush green trees and the road is still rocky and doesn’t look to be overly travelled – but there’s just something different about the air and the smell and it almost feels like home.

“I’m surprised you remember it,” Thorin admits. “We haven’t been here since you were very small.”

Suddenly, it clicks for him. They are in the woods surrounding Gondamon, a town of dwarrow and men in the lowlands of the mountain, the town where he and Kili were born. 

The town where his parents had died.

A thick lump claws its way into his throat, and for a moment he just wants to stop, dismount his pony, and run all the way back to Ered Luin, run back to his little brother and gather him up into his arms and tell him that he’s sorry, that he’s been such a fool to try and give away what little family he has left. He misses them, all of them, more than he had ever thought possible.

“It has been a long time for myself as well,” he continues. “I have not been this way in many years, but I always try to take this road.” He’s quiet for a moment before continuing. “It brings me comfort to visit with your mother.”

Fili’s head perks up at this. He’s never, not once, visited his parents after they were laid to rest. He knew it was commonplace for dwarrow to visit departed loved ones in the tombs, especially on birthdays and special holidays. He’s never even wanted to visit, never truly had the thought cross his mind, until now.

“Do we have time to see her?” he asks without hesitation, suddenly filled with need to pay his respects to his mother.

Thorin offers him a small, sad and wistful smile and nods. “I think Gondamon is a fine place to stop for the evening,” he explains. “Our spirits would do well with good food and a warm bed.”

Dwalin grumbles something under his breath that sounds like, “finally”, and they ride in relative silence the rest of the way to the town, where the Fundin brothers immediately take the reigns of their ponies to lead them to the stables. Balin gives him a warm smile and encouraging nod as the brothers and their guard bid them on their way.

He’s anxious as he follows Thorin to the outskirts of the town. All of his memories of this place are vague at best; what he remembers most is his father’s warm smiles and his mother’s constant affection. He hates that he feels as though he is starting to forget them, hates that their memory has become hazier and hazier with each passing day. 

“Shouldn’t we be headed toward the mountain?” he asks, curious as to why they are headed in the exact opposite direction. “Or is the entrance to the tomb in the foothills instead?”

“It isn’t a tomb at all,” his uncle explains. “You remember the cemetery in Fairfield, don’t you? It’s like that.”

Fili frowns and chews on his lower lip. “But we’re supposed to go back to the stone after we pass. So that Aule can find us and guide us to Mandos. That’s what Mister Balin said at least.” He worried now, worried that his mother hasn’t found her way to the Halls of Waiting, worried that she won’t be waiting for him when he inevitably makes that journey.

“An old myth,” Thorin murmurs, but raises a hand to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly all the same. “The Maker protects all of his children, guides them all to the Halls whether they are laid to rest in the stone or not.” He is quiet for a long moment before he murmurs, “and so many of us have not been,” so quietly that Fili is sure he wasn’t meant to hear it.

The graveyard is a small, nondescript affair. It is sectioned off with a low wall of stones; the graves are marked with even humbler stone markers. Some are engraved with names and messages to those who have been lost, while others are completely barren, and Fili wonders if there is anyone who mourns those unnamed souls. Even fewer are marked with runes, runes that Balin has drilled into his head since he was five years old, the runes of their people.

“Here,” Thorin murmurs quietly once they’ve reached the back row of stones. “Here they are.”

He follows his uncle’s lead as a sinks reverently to his knees, fingertips brushing across the inscription on the cool stone marker.

“Here lies Dis, daughter of Thror, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain,” he reads out loud as his fingers brush carefully across each rune. “Mum,” he whispers softly, tears threatening to break free. “Oh, Mum; I miss you so much.”

He can feel the tears as they well up and start to fall, can feel the trembling in his shoulders and the shaking in his hands, can feel the cool earth beneath his fingers as he lets them fall to the ground in front of him. He knows that he’s going to loose his composure, knows with every ounce of his being, but he has to do this. He has to see them, one last time. He makes himself think of warm smiles and sweets and kisses goodnight and half whispered lullabies, makes himself remember everything he can about her, because he’s already lost her; he cannot bear to forget her too.

Thorin’s hand is warm and calming as it rubs gentle circles across his shoulders, but he doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want his uncle to intrude on this. He doesn’t want him here at all. This isn’t about him. It’s about them, about the family they were before everything went to hell. He deftly shifts away from the contact, choosing instead to focus on his father’s headstone, though he does manage to catch the hurt expression that passes across his uncle’s face as he turns away.

“Tili, son of Vili,” he reads quietly, his throat constricted by his tears. “I didn’t even know that was his name,” he half murmurs, half sobs. “Da.”

Thorin reaches for him again, just barely brushes his fingertips along his tunic before Fili pulls away again.

“Stop!” he shouts. “Go away…just…go.” His sobs have fully taken him over then, the careful dam he’s kept on his emotions for years cracks and breaks, and he sinks down to the ground completely, fists curling in the damp ground that covers the bodies of his parents, the force of his sobs causing him to take deep, gasping breaths. It’s too much. This is too much.

“Fili,” his uncle calls quietly, but he pays him no mind. “Sweet Fili,” he murmurs as he reaches for him again.

“NO!” Fili practically snarls as he wrenches himself free. “No; I don’t want you,” he snaps before curling back in on himself and sobbing brokenly. “I don’t want you,” he murmurs. “Want Mum….want Da…not you.”

It’s getting harder and harder to breathe, but Thorin blissfully backs off, and it hurts and he’s sad and he just wants one more lullaby from his mother, wants one more smile from his father, wants so much that it hurts like he’s being torn apart from the inside.

He wants, but he knows he’ll never have them, and that makes him hurt all the more.

\-----

Thorin feels as though he’s been punched in the gut, or run through by the Defiler himself. He wants to fix this, needs to fix this. He aches for Fili, positively and absolutely feels for the lad he’s grown to love as his own son.

‘Not your son,’ his mind unhelpfully reminds. Fili had been more than clear that he’d no intentions of allowing Thorin to take the place of his father in his heart.

He’s failing him. He’s let himself forget that, through all of his maturity and composure, Fili is still just a boy, just thirty-four, and he’d left him to sort out his own hurts, left him without checking back in, without helping him because he’d been so damned concerned about keeping up boundaries.

‘No more,’ he tells himself. ‘No more.’

“Fili, my boy,” he murmurs and grabs for him again, this time more forcefully, and pulls him against his chest. The lad struggles, as he’d expected him to, even clocks him in the jaw with his elbow, but Thorin holds tight. He will not fail him again. “It’s alright, Fili,” he calls gently. “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

It’s as if he’s uttered magical words, the way Fili responds. He slumps against him, a broken, strangled sob on his lips as he stops his struggling. Thorin wraps his arms tightly around him, pulls him close and rocks him gently. Fili is still sobbing, but his hands are grasping at his Uncle’s clothing, trying to pull himself closer as he utters words Thorin cannot hope to ascertain.

“Shhh,” he soothes, barely managing to halt the tears of relief he feels forming in his own eyes. “I’ve got you, Fili. I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

“It’s not alright,” Fili sobs against him. “They’re gone. It’s not alright.”

He doesn’t quite know what to say to that; he has to admit that the lad is correct – it’s not all right. He’s lost his baby sister, watched he loose the man she loved, been tasked with raising her children in her stead, not to mention how he is a King without a Kingdom. He still keeps Fili close, rocks him gently as the dwarfling sobs himself out. His eyes pass over his sister and her husband’s graves and he can’t help but wonder if she’s disappointed in him. He knows he would be, were he in her place.

But he’s tried. He’s tried so hard to take care of them. He’s failed them, many times, and he knows he’ll fail them at least once more before his life is through, but that doesn’t mean he loves them any less.

“I know,” he murmurs quietly, once Fili is significantly calmer. “I know it isn’t fair. I know you miss them; I miss them too,” he admits. “But you must know that I love you in their place, don’t you? So much, Fili. I know I can’t be your father, but –“

“But you can be Kili’s?” Fili interrupts, his tone harsh and accusing. “You can’t be my Da but you can pretend to be Kee’s all you want?”

Thorin feels completely flabbergasted. “What are you…?” His mind whirls at an increasingly rapid pace and he doesn’t know what to do. He’d told Kili, he’d told him that he couldn’t be his Da, told him that he could never replace their departed parents. “I don’t – “

“You do!” Fili snaps back. “You coddle him and praise him and you get so, so mad at me if I hurt him. You hit me because I’d hurt him, remember?” Thorin falls into stunned silence as the lad continues his tirade, familiar guilt clawing at his insides. “You get so mad when anything happens to precious little Kili, you know? But not when something hurts me! You just tell me to be brave, to be strong. I don’t want to be!” Fili’s voice breaks just the tiniest bit. “I want you to coddle me and praise me and love me as much as you do Kee. Uncle, please.”

“I don’t…” he stumbles over his words, blindsided by Fili’s admissions. “I don’t love you any less than your brother, Fili…”

“He’s more important to you,” Fili whines as his head falls back against his uncle’s chest. “You worry about him more.”

“Because he’s so young, and he’s not like you,” he explains. “You’re stronger than he is, smarter at most things. I worry for him more out of necessity, not because I care more for him.”

“You hit me for hurting him,” Fili murmurs dejectedly. “You’d never hit him, no matter what he’d done.”

Thorin can feel all of the blood drain from his face. “I…I didn’t know how to bring you back to sense, Fili,” he mumbles, but his reasoning sounds folly to his own ears, and he knows Fili is right. Kili’s youth would have stayed his hand, no matter the situation. That incident was a prime example of how he’d messed up so many things with his boys. “My father did the same to me once, when I’d gotten so enraged at Frerin for dulling my sword. I’d been so angry and couldn’t see or hear or feel anything other than my anger until he struck me and I thought…I know I shouldn’t have, Fili, and I’m sorry…”

Fili shakes his head. “I know…I know about that but I just…I just want you to love me as much as Kili.”

He cups the lad’s tear soaked cheeks in his hands and presses their foreheads together, thumbs absently brushing across his cheekbones. “I do, Fili. I swear that I do.”

Fili frowns hard at him, his eyes still watery. “You don’t show it…you don’t let me sleep with you after night terrors or hug me when you come home or anything like that…you don’t…”

“My sweet Fili,” he murmurs softly. “I didn’t know you’d wanted me to. I’d thought you wanted space.”

“I don’t know what I want, I just…” he sighs heavily and lets his head drop instead to his uncle’s shoulder. “I want Mum and Da. And I want Kili to know them – he doesn’t even know them, Uncle! – and I want you to be like my Da but I don’t want to forget him and I just…I don’t know what to do.”

“You won’t forget them,” he half-whispers as he presses his hand against Fili’s heart. “They’re right here; you’ll never truly forget them, forget their love or who they were. They are with you. Always.”

Fili simply nods against him and releases a shuddering breath as he curls closer to his uncle.

“And you must forgive me,” he continues as he tucks his arms tighter around the lad. “My strong, brave, kind Fili, for I have failed you, haven’t I?” He presses a kiss to the crown of the dwarfling’s head. “I’d never wanted you to feel this way, to feel as though I didn’t love you as much as your brother. I do,” he assures him. “Kili’s complained that I must love you more, you know?”

Fili’s head snaps up at him, shock evident on his features. “How could he think that?”

“Because he hears how I speak of you when you’re not around,” he explains. “He knows how proud I am of you, knows how much I appreciate everything that you’ve done for our family. I have been remiss in showing my affections to you; I can see that now, but no more, lad. I promise.”

Fili nods, clearly thrown by the thought that Kili could have ever thought their Uncle had loved him least, and winds his arms around Thorin, hugs him tightly. “M’sorry, Uncle,” he whispers. “I love you.”

“And I you, my boy,” he murmurs and presses another kiss into the lads hair. “And I you.”

\-----

It takes three more weeks for their small company to make their way to Bree. If anyone else notices the shift between the King and his Heir, they make no comment. Fili is in much higher spirits, anyhow, and it warms Thorin’s heart to see the small, grateful smile that tugs at the lads lips whenever he claps a hand to his shoulder, pats him warmly on the back, or gives him an enveloping hug before sending him off to his bedroll for the night.

It’s not until their first night in the tavern in Bree, after Thorin has shuffled Fili off to bed and Balin has retreated to his own room to catch up on some ‘light reading,’ as he’d called it, when he and Dwalin are enjoying long-awaited ales after so long on the road, that it comes up.

“He’s awfully clingy lately,” he murmurs, clearly doing his best to sound nonchalant, to give Thorin a way out of the conversation if he truly wanted to.

“He is,” Thorin agrees. “It would seem he was under the impression that I cared more for his brother than for him.”

Dwalin snorted quietly into his mug. “Never thought one of our great plights would be convincing both of them lads that you love them the same,” he murmurs. “Seen you lob an orc’s head clean off with one swing, but then you turn to mush in a heartbeat for those boys.”

Thorin shakes his head. “Oh, and you’re any better?”

Dwalin grins behind his mug. “That’s different. I’m their teacher. Them lads are supposed to adore me!”

He simply shoves him hard in the shoulder, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips as he does so, one that Dwalin easily returns.

\-----

Dain arrives three days after they do. Balin spends the majority of the morning fussing over Fili, drilling him on the history he does know and reminding him of how to properly address Dain and his men. Not to mention the clothes. Fili has never worn such fine garments in his life, all warm furs and silks in rich blues, emblazoned with his crest. Balin almost makes him wear a different belt, but he holds fast to the simple, unadorned leather one that Kili had made for him not months before.

He misses his brother, more than he’d like to admit. Thorin and Dwalin do well to help him keep his mind off of it, but when he’s alone and trying to sleep he wishes he had Kili’s solid weight against his side, and when he braids his hair and sees the small lumps and imperfections, he wishes Kili were here to do it for him. More than anything he wonders if his brother is doing alright, wonders if he misses him too, wonders if he’s grown taller or if his beard has started to come in or if he’s gotten any better at his bow.

They’re two parts to a whole, and the longer he spends away from him, the more his heart aches.

“There, laddie; I think you’re all set now,” Balin mutters as he circles around him one more time. “Are you sure about the belt? It looks so plain with the rest.”

“Kee made it for me; I want to wear it,” he affirms.

Balin just gives him a small smile and a nod. “Now do your best to remember everything we’ve talked about, and be polite. Aule knows Dwalin will offend someone the moment we get there, can’t have that coming from the heir as well.” His tutor claps his hands onto Fili’s shoulders and fixes him with a stern gaze. “You’ll make us proud, won’t you, laddie?”

“I’ll do my best,” Fili promises, trying very hard to quell the swarm of butterflies that are churning in his stomach. Butterflies that are made worse when Balin tuts quietly under his breath and sets about fixing something with his hair.

“Stop fussing over him so,” Dwalin scolds when he reenters the room. “You’re just making him nervous.”

“I am not fussing,” Balin refutes, but still continues to adjust Fili’s hair.

“You are,” Thorin affirms when he steps into the room, and he gives Fili and warm smile. He’s relieved to see that his uncle is similarly dressed, and for the first time in his life he sees his elder as the king he truly is. “Come, Fili. We mustn’t keep our company waiting.”

Fili eagerly pulls himself away from Balin’s fretting to join his uncle as he steps out into the hall. He knows Thorin is anxious as well, has seen the stress building in his uncle from the moment they’d arrived in Bree. There are so many things he knows Thorin wishes were happening differently than they were, but, being a king in exile, he has little choice.

“You look like a prince,” he observes as they walk along the corridor, quickly trailing down the steps and into the fresh air outside.

“You’re welcome!” Balin calls out from behind them, clearly in a huff, and both Thorin and Fili snicker quietly at him.

“I’m scared,” he admits quietly, walking just a bit closer to his uncle to avoid having their conversation overheard. “I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t,” Thorin assures him quietly as he slings an arm around his shoulders. “You make me proud enough just by bearing to be this far from home, for putting up with Dain’s antics regarding your lineage, when, I should expect, this little meeting has nothing to do with you.”

Fili nods, taking great comfort in the warmth of his uncle’s arm across his shoulders as they step out into the chilly fall air. Dain had reserved some rooms at the Town Hall, to afford them more privacy than the Inn would, and Fili is relieved to see their three guardsmen waiting at its doors to usher them inside.

“Relax,” Thorin remind him. “If you do not know what to say, say nothing. Balin and I will take care of you.”

Fili just nods and sucks in a great breath as the doors to the hall are pushed open and they are led to Dain’s borrowed halls.

“Ah! Thorin, my old friend! It has been many years, hasn’t it?” An older dwarf greets, his hair and beard tinged with grey, smiling eyes crinkling at the corners with his arms splayed open wide in greeting. Fili almost feels comforted by him, until he notices the dark, predatory glint in his gray gaze. “Is this the lad then?” he asks, walking toward them to stand directly in front of Thorin.

“He is the son of my father’s daughter,” Thorin murmurs the traditional title with no small sense of pride. “He is my heir. This is Fili, son of Dis.”

Dain regards him with a strange look for a moment. “Your hair coloring may be peculiar, but there is no doubting that you are you mother’s son. You have her eyes and all.”

Fili isn’t quite sure what to say, but he settles on a quietly murmured “thank you, sir.”

Abruptly, the dwarf lord straightens. “Well, he is much younger than I’d expected,” Dain mutters, sounding almost exasperated as he grasps Fili’s forearm in greeting. “Just how old are you, lad?”

He quickly glances to Thorin, who gives him a small nod of approval. “Thirty-four, my Lord,” he answers succinctly, pleased with himself for keeping his voice from trembling. There is something about this dwarf that has set him on edge, despite the fact that he has shown no open hostility.

“My, my,” Dain murmurs as he returns to his own seat and gestures for them to sit as well. The dwarf lord is flanked by two dwarrows on either side, all dressed as intimidatingly as the emissaries that had arrived in Ered Luin not so long ago. “Practically still in nappies, aren’t you?”

“Were he born of some common folk, perhaps,” Dwalin growls, and Balin sends him a mildly panicked look. “But Fili is still on schedule for all of his training. Ahead schedule with his weapons, actually.”

“And he is well aware of the traditions and expectations of a crown prince of Erebor,” Balin interjects before Dwalin can make too much of his displeasure known.

“Fine, fine,” Dain murmurs as he waves him off. “What about the little one? The elfling?” He laughs under his breath, turns to his guards who return mirthful smiles. “What did you say you’d heard when you were there? That he spends more time out in the woods with a bow than in the forge? And scrawny and frail to boot.” One of the guards nods the affirmative and he guffaws under his breath.

Fili has to ball his hand into a fist under the table to keep from speaking out in his brother’s defense. A quick glance to his uncle at his left and Dwalin to his right proves that he is not the only one struggling to hold his tongue.

“Oh, it’s nothing to beat yourself up over, Thorin,” he chides. “You’ve got a fine enough heir in this one, I’d wager.” He steeples his fingers in front of his face, eyes narrowing slightly. “You cannot expect exemplary children, not in a common marriage like that.”

“My brother is a fine craftsman already and will grow to be a great hunter,” Fili interjects, voice hard. “Do not speak of him as though he has no value.” His fingernails and pressing half-moons into his palms and he squeezes his hands into even tighter fists.

Dain raises his hand slightly. “I mean no offence. He has fine skills for a commoner, less so for a prince.”

“Yes, because a prince who can hunt and feed his people in exile is such a waste,” Dwalin mutters, his voice lacking any of the carefully placed diplomacy Fili’s own had held.

“Perhaps we should steer the conversation more towards your true purpose, Lord Dain?” Balin placates in an attempt to diffuse the mounting tension.

“And should these two,” he gestures between Thorin and Fili, “meet an untimely end, would you feel comfortable following him as your king?” Dain asks, a small sneer on his face, clearly expecting to trip Dwalin up and catch him off guard.

“I would be proud to call him my king,” Dwalin says without a second of hesitation, eyes hard as he watches Dain recline back into his chair.

“And if he truly is a half breed?” Dain all but snarls, his voice just barely tinted with the politeness diplomacy requires.

“Have care how you speak of my sons,” Thorin interjects, his voice whisper quiet but razor sharp. Fili, Dwalin, and Balin turn stunned eyes to him, but Thorin keeps his gaze on Dain, who openly laughs.

“You have no sons, master Oakenshield,” he reminds, his voice taking on an almost mirthful tone.

“Not by birth, no,” he agrees. “But I have raised the two of them as my own since Fili was five and the younger was just a babe. They are my sons in everything but name, and to threaten or speak ill of them means you do so of me.”

Dain is quiet for a long moment, his jaw working in barely suppressed anger. “Very well then.”

“Speak plainly of your intentions, Dain,” Thorin growls, clearly growing wary of the older dwarf’s runaround. “We have traveled many hard miles to meet with you.”

Dain huffs quietly under his breath and sinks back into his chair. He leans to his right and whispers with one of his guards, who nods but snickers quietly in a way that makes Fili wholly unsettled. “I only seek to mend the damage in the relationship of our great lands, Thorin,” he explains.

“Funny, seeing how you’re the one who damaged them,” Dwalin snarks back. Fili knows that the warrior had often regarding his mother as his own sister, close as he and Thorin had been as children, and he is unsurprised at his open hostility toward the dwarf lord. Balin gives his brother a sharp glare from across their side of the table, and Fili thinks he sees the ghost of a smile of amusement flash across his uncle’s face before it returns to his normal, stoic mask.

“Be that as it may,” Dain continues, keeping his eyes on Thorin and clearly doing his best to pretend that Dwalin isn’t even in the room; “We wish to mend those slights. We wish to foster one of your kin, for one of your lads to marry into my line and -”

“No,” Thorin says sharply, without a hint of hesitation, just as Fili feels the floor drop out from underneath him.

“It would be a great honor for an exiled prince to be harbored within my halls,” Dain continues, undaunted. “And a right fine thing for that wild one, at least, to let him see how a proper dwarf behaves, to get him set straight before he’s too far gone.”

“You’re out of your blasted mind,” Dwalin sneers, and Balin makes no move to shush him this time. For his part, the scholar is doing a spectacular impression of a fish, his mouth falling open and closed in clear shock. “You’ve got some nerve, calling us here under the pretense of peace…”

“Think, Thorin,” Dain urges, “It would be good for the lad -”

“No,” Fili reiterates, his voice full of harsh coldness. “You’ll not have my brother.” Balin had warned him of this, had spoken to him of how daughters and second sons were often seen as bargaining chips in diplomacy, yet he’d never thought it would actually happen, not to Kili, not to his baby brother.

“You truly are mad if you think I would send him to you after all of the slights you given him,” Thorin all but growls. “You and your guardsmen who have openly mocked him. He will have no safety in your halls, no love, and I will not condemn my youngest to that fate.”

“Condemn?” Dain stutters. “It is a great courtesy I show you, Thorin Oakenshield!”

“No,” Thorin says again, slamming his palm flat down on the tabletop that separates them. “My answer is final.”

“Have some sense about you -”

“His answer is final,” Dwalin repeats, smirking just slightly at the way Dain mildly shrinks back from him. “Now, if you have other business for us to tend to?”

“What business could I have with a King without a Kingdom?” Dain snaps back. “You are a fool, Thorin. Fostering one of the lads would gain you favor with my kin, would give a new homeland to your people”

“My people have a homeland,” Thorin interjects. “And I will reclaim it for them. I will see it done.”

“What, and become Thorin Dragon Slayer instead?” the dwarf lord growls. “Smaug’s desolation is terrible -”

“We have seen it with our own eyes,” Balin snaps, eyes sharp and face stern as he speaks out against Dain. “We have known dragonfire and death. Do not speak to us of loss.”

“The dragon is just as volatile as ever,” Dain continues. “It is folly to reclaim your lost kingdom. You’ll have to wait until it dies, and that dragon will far outlive you.”

“You know not of what you speak,” Thorin continues calmly. “Erebor will be mine once more. I will avenge the deaths of my father and grandfather, of my sister and brother; I will have my revenge upon that worm.”

“You’ve gone mad,” Dain declares, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “That old wizard has spun some insane ideas into your head. He would see you dead before you sat on the throne of Erebor.”

Fili blinks up at his uncle in surprise. A wizard? He’d only heard stories of them; had never even seen one in person, but apparently his uncle was conversing with one? The wizard had certainly never been to Ered Luin; the townsfolk would have talked of nothing else and surely Fili would have heard.

“You needed concern yourself with my plans,” Thorin mutters coldly. “Nor the fate of my lads. I had hoped that we could see eye to eye about these matters, but if you are insistent on being so stubborn -”

“I am the Lord of the Iron Hills!” Dain practically roars as he hastily stands and slams his palms on the table. “You are nothing more than an exiled king, with no hope of providing for his subjects. You can give them nothing, but I can. I offer you sanctuary, Thorin, sanctuary for your people, for a better way of life! Do not be as foolish as your grandfather was.”

Thorin is quiet for a moment, thoughtfully chewing on his cheek. Dain calms significantly and sinks back down into his hair, hands tented expectantly in front of his face. The barest hint of a smile pulls at his lips; he must think he’s won.

“It is a generous offer,” Thorin concedes, and Fili feels panic clawing at his insides. He couldn’t, Thorin just couldn’t send Kili away. “But you ask for a life that is not mine to give. You ask me to take a boy who has lost so very much, to take what small joys he has and extinguish them. You ask to tamper his soul, to change him from who he is, to destroy everything he is and could ever be. You ask for something I cannot give you, though I would not give it to you even if it were mine to share.”

Fili breathes out a breath he’d not realized he’d been holding in relief, just as Dain’s face pinches in frustration. “You truly are a fool,” he sneers finally. “Go on then; out with you! I’ve nothing more to discuss with stubborn, mad kings today!” His guardsmen rise to their feet, hands positioned loosely over their weapons as if they are anticipating a fight. “We can reconvene tomorrow; perhaps you’ll have your wits about you then.”

“My answer will be the same tomorrow,” Thorin reminds him. “And it will be the same for all days forward. If you’ve called us here with the sole intention of fostering one of my lads, then you will leave disappointed, no matter how long we drag this out.”

Dain narrows his eyes. “Your madness aside, I have much more pressing matters to discuss with you and your scholar,” he mumbles. “You’ll not need to bring the boy or your guard dog tomorrow.”

Dwalin is immediately on his feet, but Thorin reaches straight across Fili, arm moving lightning fast, to grab him and yank him back down into his seat. A small, self-satisfied smirk sneaks its way onto Dain’s face, and Fili feels his stomach churn in disgust. This isn’t at all how he’d expected their meeting to go down. He’d thought he would be tested on his skills and knowledge, as Balin had told him was commonplace before an heir is officially announced, not to hear about some underhanded scheme to swindle himself or his brother away from their uncle.

Thorin nods his assent to Dain’s terms for the next day before rising gracefully from his seat and striding out of the room. Every step he takes exudes confidence, and Fili finds himself hoping against hope that he will one day be able to simply walk and show his authority. For now, he simply bows his head respectfully toward the Lord of the Iron Hills before following obediently after his uncle.

Dwalin is digging for his pipe and lighting it the second they are out in the fresh air. “The nerve of that bastard,” he all but snarls. “To think he has some claim to Kili’s youth, that he has some obligation to foster him out of the goodness of his heart and fix him.”

A quick glance to his uncle shows that he is no less frustrated, but he turns to Dwalin and half-whispers, “Keep your voice down. We do not know what spies he may have brought with him.”

Dwalin still grumbles something under his breath in Khuzdul. “He’s right, brother,” Balin chimes in. “He wants to see what Fili is made of. I have no doubts that he’s got eyes all over this town, so you’d best be on your best behavior. The both of you,” he adds, with a small wink at Fili.

“He can’t just take Kili, can he?” Fili murmurs under his breath as he catches up to his uncle. “I mean, if he really wanted to?”

Thorin shakes his head as he lays his arm across Fili’s shoulders and pulls him closer so they can speak even quieter. “He cannot,” he whispers. “I had not in my wildest dreams imagined that to be his plan.”

“Do you think he’s got something bigger planned?” Fili murmurs back, suddenly wondering which of the dwarves and men and halflings milling about the marketplace could be in liege with Dain.

“Time will tell, lad,” is all he says in reply. “Time will tell.”

\-----

It’s been two months. Two months of absolutely crushing boredom in Bree. He and Dwalin have not been invited to any more meetings, and Balin and Thorin speak little of their dealings with Dain, but Fili has noticed his uncle becoming more and more frustrated, more and more distant as the days pass. He spends his days sparring and weapons training with Dwalin in as public of places as they can manage, and Fili’s started to notice which of the ‘villagers’ are actually under Dain’s thumb. He reads his history books and scrolls in public places as well, does his best to put on the show of a sound, respectful heir that he knows Dain is looking for.

But at the end of the day, he is tired and heartsick for his brother.

Finally, one night when he can stand it no longer, he crawls into Thorin’s bed while his elder is reading and tucks himself into his side. He feels small and scared and he wants to go home. Thorin must sense it in him, as he shifts about slightly, freeing up one arm to wrap around his heir.

“I want to go home,” Fili murmurs finally, pressing his face into his uncle’s chest. He can feel tears pricking at the backs of his eyes, so he squeezes them shut instead.

Thorin’s hand shifts to comb through his hair, and he’s quiet for a long time. “So do I,” he murmurs finally. “Soon enough, though; I should hope.”

“Is everything okay?” he summons up the courage to ask. “You haven’t said a word.”

“You are young still,” Thorin mumbles. “You needn’t be troubled by such dark things.”

“But Kili is safe?” he asks, feeling small and weak and stupid because if he can’t protect his brother from this then what can he?

Thorin leans down to press a kiss against his forehead. “Kili is safe, and will stay that way, just as I promised you,” he soothes. “As are you. Dain’s been quite pleased with what he’s heard of you. Damn near passed you a compliment this morning, actually.”

Fili nearly glows with pride. “Really?” he asks, not quite believing his uncle’s words but trusting his elder not to lie to him all the same.

“Really,” Thorin murmurs. “I know I haven’t said as much, but...I am proud of you, Fili”

Thorin’s arm nudges him just a bit closer and he wraps his arms around him in a warm hug. He knows this trip has changed things for them, has afforded them a new closeness that he hadn’t even noticed he’s missed for so long. The warmth of that thought eventually lulls him into a deep and restful sleep, happy with the knowledge that his uncle will keep them both safe and protected as well as he can.

\-----

Two weeks later and their dealings with Dain are finished. It’s been a mild winter in Bree, and a week after that Balin suggests that the mountain roads should be cleared enough for them to travel home. Three weeks into their journey, Fili finds himself uncontrollably excited to see his little brother again. He knows he’s missed so much, is anxious to see how Kili’s grown, desperate to grab him and hug him and hold him close and tell him how he’s been such and idiot, because he has been, for all this time. His heart feels lighter than it has in years.

They’re nearly to Gondamon when the ravens come.

The first one comes in the morning, straight to Balin. His tutor’s face pales considerably once he reads it, and he urges Thorin and the rest of their company off the road.

“Thorin,” he hisses, panic clear in his voice. “Read this,” he demands, passing the parchment through shaking hands to his king.

Fili doesn’t start to panic until the color drains from Thorin’s face as well. “This is dated yesterday,” he breathes, disbelief clear in his voice. “This is...how far are we yet?”

“At least a week’s ride, my lord,” one of the guardsmen answers. “Has something happened?”

Dwalin, clearly fed up with being kept in the dark, snatches the parchment fro Thorin’s hand, and Fili practically scrambles to his side to read over his shoulder. He is absolutely positive that his entire world crashes down around him as he reads.

“Thorin, son of Thror, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain:

Last eve, a horde of orcs overran the town of Fairfield. We can see the fires even from the settlement, and the smoke is thick in the air, thick enough to block out the sun. We fear they may come for us next; the winter has left us weakened and our resources low. We are preparing for battle as I write. Please, if you can, make haste to return home.

Nar”

“Orcs?” he breathes out, scarcely believing what he’s read. Not at the settlement; not at their home; not again. A feeling of despair crawls up his spine. They are a week away; they would never make it back in time and Kili - “Kili!” he shouts out, grasps frantically at his uncle’s sleeve. “Uncle, we have to go!”

Thorin simply nods, his face a blank mask as he mounts his pony and spurs it back onto the road. They’re too far away; they’ll never make it in time to help. He chances a glance around at their small company and can’t take the concern and the fear he sees on all of their faces. He wants to scream, wants to curse everything because he’s finally, finally found his happiness and he can feel it slipping away from him like ash through his hands.

They ride hard and fast, pushing the ponies to their absolute limits before stopping to rest. The second raven arrives just at dusk, and it makes Fili’s chest constrict, robs him of the ability to breathe for several long moments as blackness creeps in on his vision.

Three words, scrawled across the parchment in unusually sloppy writing from their governor.

“They have come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not even sorry at all. Love you, my dears!


	12. Thirty-Four and Twenty-Eight - Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – I am so angry with this chapter. I had such a VISION for it, and then I was completely rubbish at putting it into words. Ugh. I hope you all enjoy it! I don’t personally think it’s up to my usual standard, but hopefully I can get better from here! Thanks again for being such lovely people. I love reading your comments about this story and you are all SO SWEET.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Kili sulks a lot. References to illness and hunger/food shortage and mid violence/gore toward the end.

Bofur takes one look at the lad as he stares forlornly out the window and sighs. It has been a week since Thorin and the others had taken their leave. He’s tried to keep Kili as busy as possible, tried to occupy him with asking him to help out at the shop, or to help Bombur in the tavern, and for the most part, he thinks he’s done all right.

It’s the quiet times, though, the down time in the morning and evening and at night, that he worries most for the lad. It is apparent that he isn’t sleeping well, and he’s often the first one in their home awake. Most mornings, Bofur finds him exactly as he is now - perched in the windowsill, forehead resting against the glass and eyes fixed on some point on the horizon. He’s eerily quiet and slightly withdrawn, though he does tend to perk up a bit when he knows others are around. Most days, he doesn’t eat much, and Bofur would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t concerned.

Kili wears his heart on his sleeve, and it’s easy to see how distraught he is becoming from just a single glance.

Yet, he doesn’t know what to do for the lad, aside from keeping him as busy as possible. It still doesn’t protect him from the lonely nights, still doesn’t patch the gaping hole in his heart, or quell the loneliness that he feels. And he’s not sure anything ever will, save for the return of his beloved brother and uncle. With an almost inaudible sigh, he presses into the kitchen to greet the lad.

“What, you’re up already and haven’t even made me breakfast?” he teases, fixing a warm smile on his face.

Kili jumps just a little, but plays it off by sliding down from the windowsill and returning his smile with a small, timid one of his own. The dark circles under his eyes confirm that he hasn’t slept well again. “Mister Bombur made scones,” he murmurs sleepily.

“Well, I’ll be,” he declares, patting Kili’s shoulder as he crosses the kitchen to the aforementioned scones. “And have you eaten yet, you little imp?”

Kili bites his lip timidly and shakes his head. “M’not hungry,” he says quietly, as his gaze drifts to the floor.

He grabs two scones anyway before sitting down on the bench of their table. He pats the spot next to him, urging the lad to come and sit. Kili slowly shuffles over, and as soon as he sits, Bofur has his arm around his shoulder and pulls him directly to his side. “You’re not hungry because you miss them, yeah?” he asks.

Kili nods miserably from his side, so he reaches up and ruffles a hand through his hair to try and soothe him. With his other hand, he passes the lad one of the scones, smiling lightly when he takes it and starts to pick at it.

“You’ve got to take care of yourself, laddie; Aule knows your uncle will have my head if he comes home to find you naught but skin and bones,” he murmurs. “Got to make sure you’re eating, even if you don’t feel hungry, okay? And sleeping better too.”

Kili huffs out a sigh. “I can’t sleep alone,” he utters glumly, but obediently breaks off a piece of his breakfast and pops it into his mouth.

“And why’s that?” he asks, taking a cue from the youngling and digging into his own breakfast, realizing just a second too late that he knows exactly why.

“Bad dreams,” Kili murmurs quietly. “Fee and Uncle keep them away.”

“They’re just dreams, little imp; they can’t hurt you,” he murmurs softly, rubbing a hand across the boy’s shoulders. “And if something was to come after you in the night, it’d have to get through me, and Bombur, AND Bifur. Not likely to happen, laddie. You’re quite safe with us.”

“I know,” he whispers, after taking another small bite of his meal. “I just...I’ll try to; I promise.”

Bofur pulls him into a one armed hug, let’s his cheek rest against the top of the lad’s head. “It’ll get better with time; you’ll see,” he promises, before they resume eating their breakfasts in relative silence.

He hopes beyond hope that he’s right.

\-----

“Oh, no you don’t, laddie!” Gloin calls as soon as he steps into the training area, practically vibrating with excitement at the thought of getting to train again. “You’d best be putting that bow away now. You know better.”

Kili glances down at the bow in his hand just as Gimli snickers lightly at him. “It’s Tuesday,” he says, albeit a little dumbly.

“So?” Gloin asks as he rifles through the weapons rack.

“So,” he huffs out, almost angrily, “Mister Dwalin and I practice with my bow on Tuesdays. Thursday is swords and Saturday is sparring. Tuesday is my bow.”

Gloin hands a practice sword to Gimli, who gleefully takes off in the direction of the wooden practice dummies with a fledgling, yet fearsome battle cry. “Well, Mister Dwalin is away for a while, and I’ll not be training you with the bow.”

“But,” he starts, clearly dismayed by this bit of information. He’s knows his weapon of choice is not particularly proper, but no one has outright denied his wishes to train with it. Not even his uncle, and he is their king.

“No buts!” Gloin interjects. “You can practice your little hobby on your own time, yea?”

“It’s not…”

“When you’re training with me, we’ll be training you to be a real warrior,” he continues, with just a small bit of disdain in his tone, selecting a battle axe from the rack before pulling Kili’s bow from his numbed fingertips and shoving the axe into his hands. “Tuesdays are for your axe, now.”

“That’s not fair!” Kili declares, half-heartedly reaching for his bow. He wants to fight, wants to kick and scream and fight to get to practice his bow, but Dwalin had asked him to make him proud. His weapons master would surely be less than proud to hear that he’d started a fight with his replacement. With a heavy sigh, he swallows his frustration and nods to Gloin as he moves to do as he’s been told.  
Though when he heads for the practice dummies, it is with considerably less enthusiasm than he’d had before.

\-----

“Looks like you’ve got an admirer, little brother,” Bofur teases one night, with a meaningful glance to one of the lasses seated at the bar. She’s come in every night for nearly two weeks, orders only a bowl of whatever stew Bombur has concocted for the evening. Kili’s noticed her, of course; he’s been the one to bring out her meal most nights. She always greets him with a small smile, but never says much, but even he has noticed how her eyes track Bombur’s movements and little else.

Bombur, for the most part, has remained completely ignorant. “Oh?” he asks, peering around to see. The lass notices his gaze shifting to her, and she smiles sweetly before ducking her head. She’s a pretty thing, with russet brown hair and pale green eyes, short beard neatly braided away from her face, and most of her long hair held in a single, thick braid down her back. By the looks of her, she’s a commoner, not from any lord nor carrying any land, but the way Bombur’s face lights up when he sees her indicates that he cares not for her status.

“That’s Eila, isn’t it?” Bofur continues, gently nudging his brother in her direction. “Y’know, why don’t you take the night off and spend some time with the lass, yea? We’re not busy anyhow.”

It takes a few more good minutes of poking and prodding, but Bombur eventually abandons his post in the kitchen and trots off to sit with her on the other side of the bar. Bofur can’t help the knowing grin that stretches across his face, mutters something about “proper courting” under his breath. Kili wrinkles his nose in disgust, clearly too young to still be interested in courting of any kind.

“Oh, don’t you make that face, boy,” he jests, nudging Kili’s shoulder teasingly. “One day you’ll find yourself a nice little lass to court - or maybe a lad, who knows - and you’ll be all goo-goo eyed and smitten as well.”

Kili just frowns. “Don’t think so,” he mutters. “All the lasses think I’m ugly anyhow. They all like Fee.”

Bofur throws a friendly arm around his shoulder in a lopsided hug before moving to fetch a beer for one of the patrons. “Oh, come now. I’ll bet once you’re grown the lasses will be all over you, laddie.”

Kili just frowns and shakes his head again. “Tha’s gross,” he mumbles, but his gaze can’t help but wander to where Bombur is apparently flirting with Eila. Bofur tosses a dishrag at him, points to a pile of mugs that had just been freshly washed with a teasing grin, and he obediently sets about drying them and stacking them back.

His mind starts to drift as he completes his chore. He can’t help but wonder if his mother and father were ever as smitten with one another, as this young couple appeared to be now. He tries to imagine their faces, but he just can’t, He’s only ever seen them in sketches and drawings, has never seen his father’s eyes crinkle the way Bombur’s do now, has never seen a flush cover his mother’s cheeks the way Eila’s does. He wonders if Fili can imagine, wonders if he remembers seeing their love for himself, wonders if Thorin urged his sister on in her courting, or if he played the part of the stern elder brother that Kili knows he could play oh-so well. He wonders, wonders, wonders.

“Brooding again, are you?” Bombur asks a moment later, gently pulling the mug and drying towel from his still hands. “Growing up to be just like your uncle; I can tell already,” he teases lightly. There’s a well-meaning smile on his face, but the older dwarf’s eyes are filled with concern. “Maybe you should go up for bed? It is a slow night, as I said.”

“No,” he starts to protest. “No, I’m fine. I’m sorry.” He reaches back for the mug and cloth, but Bofur pulls it just out of his reach and gives him a small shake of his head. It isn’t until the toymaker reaches a hand up to brush along his cheek that he realizes he’s crying. He is mildly horrified as he brings his sleeves up to scrub along his face. “M’fine; I want to help.”

Bofur looks like he wants to protest again, like he wants to send the lad off to bed for certain, but he hands the cloth and mug back anyway, though the older dwarf’s ever-present smile is strangely absent. Kili gives him a small, grateful smile and ducks his head away in embarrassment, and as Bofur pats him lightly on the back on his way to the kitchen, he makes a mental note to keep his feelings in better check.

\-----

“Can you teach me how to do that?”

Kili starts at the quiet question. He’d been fully engrossed in the carving he’d been working on - a dragon wing to go with a crank toy that Bifur was making - That he hadn’t even noticed the younger dwarfling’s approach. Gimli is watching his hands with rapt attention, and for a moment, he’s almost flattered. But then he remembers Gimli’s teasing while they were sparring the day before, when the younger had nearly managed to take him down with a well-aimed hit as Kili’s attention had slipped, and he suddenly doesn’t feel as such.

“I dunno,” he says nonchalantly with a shrug of his shoulders. “Mister Bofur taught me how to a long time ago; I don’t know if I could teach it.”

Gimli seems undeterred by his polite dismissal, as he plops himself down to sit beside him, grabbing a spare piece of wood as he does. “Please?” he asks quietly. “Mum’s driving me nuts and the baby’s been crying for days. I think Da’s gonna smack me upside my head if I pester him any longer.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. He’s not overly fond of Gimli, especially not now that he is training with him and Gloin. The dwarfling is very competitive and boisterous, and Kili has noticed that their personalities don’t mesh well at all, despite the fact that Gimli is the only dwarfling in town close to his age, aside from his brother. Besides that, he’s heard the things the lad’s family have said about him, has heard the things Gimli has said about him, and he’s never been overly concerned with striking up a friendship with him.

He sets his own carving aside and reaches for some of his smaller carving knives. Gimli decides that he wants to carve an axe, so Kili sketches the rough shape of it out, before showing the younger lad what to do. It’s surprisingly relaxing for him, and honestly the most interaction he’s had with another dwarf in weeks, as reclusive as he’s grown.

He hadn’t meant to become so anti-social, but Dori had insisted that the start of the winter chill was far too much for Ori to deal with outside, and Bofur and Bifur had gotten swamped with orders for toys, and Bombur was far too preoccupied with courting Eila to pay him much attention. Aside from his three weekly training sessions with Gloin, he’d not had much reason to converse with anyone for quite a while.

He was broody and sulking and he knew it, but he couldn’t be bothered enough to care. He wanted Fili. He wanted his uncle, and Mister Dwalin. Hell, he even wanted Balin, and his dry, boring history lessons back. They’d been gone for nearly three months, and the rapidly approaching winter only served to remind him that there would be many more long, cold weeks without them ahead.

Gimli is prattling on about something as he attempts to make his carving. He’s already strayed from the lines and taken a huge notch out of what should have eventually become the axe head. Kili’s only catching every few words or so, as he’s returned his focus to his own carving, using just the tip of his knife to carve the texture of scales into the otherwise smooth wood.

“But I never hear about your mum. Must’ve been nice, to have a princess for a mum, yeah?” Gimli asks, still intently focusing on his own work. “What was she like? I know she passed before I was born but -”

“I don’t know,” Kili answers simply enough, swallowing the lump that’s found it’s way into his throat. “She passed when I was a babe. I don’t remember her.”

Gimli is staring at him with no small amount of shock, the small braids in his fledgling beard still swinging from where he’d turned his head so sharply at his comment. “What?!” he asks, eyes wide. “No lullabies? No bedtime stories?”

“No, no!” Kili interjects. “We had all that. We just...didn’t have our mum anymore. We have our Uncle.”

Gimli deflates a little bit at that. “Oh. Well, that sounds awful,” he murmurs sullenly, turning back to his carving, though with considerably less interest than before. “I don’t know what I would do without my mum.”

Kili shrugs and returns to his own carving as well. “I mean, I didn’t know her at all so...I don’t know what to miss, I guess,” he murmurs. He can feel the annoying prickle of tears behind his eyes. His solitude has left him too much time for thinking, and his thoughts have continually drifted toward his family. He knows Gimli doesn’t mean anything by his question, but he’s annoyed about it all the same. They aren’t even really friends; he doesn’t understand why they’re even spending time together, much less even talking about this…

Gimli lays a gentle hand on his shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. The young dwarfling’s eyes are still almost comically wide, but his face is full of concern and compassion. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, eyes drifting down to the carving in Kili’s hands. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

Kili can’t find the words to reply, so he just nods and lets the both of them get back to their carvings.

\------

The winter has been hard.

It’s been colder, colder than he’s ever felt, even when they lived in their rickety old house in that town of men, the one that let every chilled breeze in and made you feel as though you were still outside. There’s been almost no snow, but everything has been frozen - the ponds, the food stores...even the wood to burn in the fireplace is little more than a block of ice. They’d been forced to ration their food supply, to eat as little as possible to make the stores last through the brutal cold. Everyone was cold, and hungry, and tired.

Then the sickness had come.

Bofur had ushered him out of the Inn as soon as the first signs of illness had appeared, had sent him away to stay with Ori and his brothers, safely tucked into the side of the mountain. Dori mothered over the three of them constantly, always checking for fevers and force-feeding them broth that became more and more watered down each day. It had been a good choice, though, as soon after Bofur had sent him away, the sickness had spread so much that the Inn had become an extension of the House of Healing, and most of the beds were filled with those who were suffering.

He shivers and pulls the furs tighter around his shoulders. Dori had insisted that the boys sleep in the front room, so he and Ori were huddled up on the settee, and Nori had set up camp in a neighboring armchair; both pieces of furniture were pulled up close to the fire. Nori had protested vehemently at first, but Dori had put his foot down, had told him that he could abide by his rules or spend the winter out on the streets. Nori had acquiesced, but he did still grumble about it from time to time.

He wondered how everyone else was doing, wondered who was sick. They hadn’t heard anything from anyone since Bofur had sent him away nearly two weeks ago, and Dori clearly had no inclination to step outside until someone came to tell them the worst had passed. He stares into the fire and wonders if it’s this cold in Bree, if Fili and Uncle are huddled against each other like he and Ori are now.

It’s his birthday today, and he wonders if they remember.

No one here has said anything, even now that the sun has dipped low beneath the horizon. He doesn’t have the heart to remind him that he’s been forgotten, not when so many people are so sick and so hungry, but it does cause an ache in his chest that he’d rather not have. He’s never been one to make a big deal of his name day, but it is nice to be remembered, and the fact that no one has said anything at all to him about it just makes him feel wholly left behind, even more so than he’d felt before.

He just hopes that Fili and his Uncle haven’t forgotten him as well. He doesn’t think he could bear that.

He sighs. Ori has already fallen asleep next to him; his head had dropped onto his shoulder not long after they’d settled back in after supper. Nori was diligently carving a pipe, but was never really one for conversation anyhow, particularly not with the pair of them. Dori was fussing over some of the firewood, trying to make sure that it was thawed enough to burn. He’s cold and he’s lonely and he’s bored, but he settles on starring broodily into the fire once more.

“I suppose it’s not the best night for some music, hm?” Dori murmurs some time later as he settles into an armchair a bit farther back from the fire.

“Ori’s sleeping,” he and Nori reply at the same time.

Dori sighs heavily. “True,” he murmurs. “Though I am getting a bit tired of all of this; being cooped up inside is no good for anyone.”

“I keep asking to go out,” Nori huffs, sounding only slightly annoyed. “Just for a bit of a walk, but you keep on-”

They are all started into silence by a loud knock at the door. Kili jumps so fiercely that he shakes Ori awake, who stares up at all of them with wide, frightened eyes.

“Who is it?” Dori shouts as he nears the door. “I’ll not be having any sickness in here!”

Curious, Kili has pulled himself up the sit backwards on the settee, giving himself a better view of the door. For a split second he allows himself to hope that his Uncle and brother have returned early, that they’re here to retrieve him, that he can finally go home.

“I’m not sick, you old prude,” a gruff voice yells back. Kili deflates as he recognizes it as Bifur’s. “I’ve got some more wood for you; Bofur thought you might be low.”

He sinks back down on the settee, no longer interested in their unannounced visitor. He likes Bifur, really he does, but the older dwarf isn’t much of a conversationalist with youngling like himself, despite his occupation as toymaker. He really prefers the company of his cousins, and had let himself hope that his uncle would be at the door instead.

Ori seems to lose interest as well, for he flops back down beside him not a moment later. “Thought it’d be something more exciting than firewood,” he muses.

Kili makes a small noise in agreement as he tucks the furs back around his body. They lapse into a comfortable silence, and he feels himself starting to drift off when Ori suddenly jerks up.

“Oh, I almost forgot!” he exclaims as he scrambles to his feet and rushes into the back hall where his bedroom is. There is the distinctive sound of things being rustled about, but Ori emerges a few moments later, carrying a knitted something or other in his hands. It’s a hobby the young dwarfling has only recently started, but he’s been keen on making sweaters and scarves and gloves out of everything that he can. He thrusts the thing into Kili’s hands with a big smile. “Happy birthday!” he offers by way of explanation. Nori raises an interested eyebrow at him, and Dori is still fussing with the wood, completely oblivious.

Kili takes the knitting with careful hands and unfolds it, revealing an oversized sweater made out of scratchy looking yarn. A small, timid smile graces his lips, grateful that his friend had taken the time to remember his birthday.

“I know it’s not the best yarn,” Ori explains as he settles himself back on the settee. “But I know blue is your favorite and it’s all I could find.”

“No, it’s great,” Kili murmurs, shifting himself free of the furs to pull the sweater over his head. It’s far too big, but it’s warm, and the yarn isn’t as scratchy as he thought it would be at first glance. “Thank you, Ori; it’s brilliant.”

Ori gives him a wide, sleepy smile. “Sorry I almost forgot,” he slurs, sinking back down into the cushions and looking all the world like he could fall asleep at a moments notice.

Kili tucks himself back in, feeling much warmer and lighter now with the receipt of Ori’s gift. When he drifts off a few moments later, he wears the ghost of a smile on his lips.

\-------

Being outside is a blessing. The wind is still bitingly cold, but it carries the fresh scent of a promised spring with it. He’s gone out to the woods with Bofur to help chop and retrieve more firewood, now that the frost and sickness have started to pass and journeys outside of the town’s walls are deemed safe again. It feels incredible to have fresh air in his lungs, to be able to explore the woods once more, even if the cold is bothersome and he feels weak from hunger, still.

Bofur watches him with amused eyes and a fond smile. “It’s good to see you act yourself again, lad,” he murmurs as they begin to load the sled with logs fit for burning. “Not good to keep little dwarflings cooped up inside for so long.”

Kili flashes him a sheepish smile. It does feel nice. His heart feels lighter than it has in months. The coming of the spring means the return of his family, and he’s already beyond ecstatic to throw himself into his brother’s arms. He catches himself daydreaming often enough of how Fili must have changed through the winter, of how much taller he’s probably grown, or how much fuller his beard will be. He wonders if Thorin’s hair will be streaked with even more grey than before, or if his eyes will crinkle at the corners in a smile that rarely graces his lips.

“Oh, I nearly forgot!” Bofur interjects as they stop to take a break. “Your birthday present,” he murmurs with a conspiratorial wink as he pulls a small thing wrapped in parchment from his pocket. “Tried to get Dori to let you out but he would hear none of it. Awful paranoid that one is, isn’t he?”

Kili laughs lightly at the truth in his words, eager hands coming forward to grasp the gift. He pulls the parchment free with a small smile, revealing several small but gleaming arrowheads. He pulls one out, carefully examining it with reverent fingers.

“They’re stone, but they’re sharp,” he explains. “Polished up nice too. I thought you might like something a little more lethal for when Dwalin takes you hunting.” He gives Kili a wide, toothy smile. “I know some folks give you a hard time for your skill, but I myself enjoy a nice bit of meat now and then, you know?”

He knows that a stupid smile is tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t really care. Someone else had remembered his birthday after all, and more than that, someone had cared enough about him, enough about his craft to get him a gift that would help him become a better hunter. “I can make some arrows from them before they’re even back!” He exclaims happily. “Thank you, Mister Bofur.” He launches himself at the older dwarf in a warm hug, dopey grin still splitting his face wide.

“Just make sure you get me a nice deer one day, or a boar, even!” he jests, clapping his hand to Kili’s shoulder jovially.

Kili tucks the arrowheads into his pocket with great care before they set back to work. Chopping the logs is tedious work, but it relaxes him all the same. It makes him feel strong, and capable and he doesn’t mind the manual labor, especially since they will be delivering the logs to families who really need them. Most of the sickness has passed, but between the cold and the illness and the lack of food, many dwarrow have died this winter. There is a permeating sadness in the town, and he is eager to help in any way that he can, even if it is just by bringing in some fresh firewood.

Bofur stops suddenly, nearly in mid swing of his axe. He takes a deep breath of the air, then another. “Do you smell that?” he asks, brows knit together in confusion.

Kili obediently takes a sniff. At first, he smells nothing but to cold air of the forest, but then he catches it.

Smoke.

They’re too far from town to be able to smell any of the fires warming people’s homes. It is a peculiar thing to be so far out in the woods and be able to smell fire at all, unless there are nearby wanderers or other unsavory visitors. Bofur is clearly on high alert, and that makes Kili feel uneasy as well.

“You can climb, can’t you?” The former miner asks, gesturing to a nearby tree. “Get on up there and see if you can see anything,” he elaborates when Kili nods his consent.

He climbs as quickly as he can, mindful of how brittle the branches have become with the cold, and careful to make sure he doesn’t select branches that are too small to hold his weight. Most of the trees have dropped their leaves, and it makes it easy for him to see far off into the woods.

He can see far enough to Fairfield, where great plumes of smoke are billowing up.

“Fairfield is burning!” he shouts, alarm clear in his voice. “It’s...there’s smoke everywhere!”

“Alright, get down from there, lad!” he calls, a small spark of panic clinging to his voice. “Come on, we’ve got to get back!”

Kili has nearly reached the ground when the alarm bells from their settlement began to ring in the distance. Fear claws up his spine as they make great haste to return home, leaving the sled full of wood behind as they race the pony they’d brought with them as fast as they could.

When they get back, the whole settlement is in an uproar.

Bifur spies them as they hustle through the marketplace and rushes over to join them. “Orcs,” he spits distastefully. “They’ve overrun Fairfield. A messenger came while you were out. The whole town burns.”

“We saw,” Kili confirms, his voice trembling just slightly. “We could smell the smoke so I climbed up and we could see.”

“Nar thinks they’ll come for us next. Their numbers are enormous,” Bifur continues. “He wants us to prepare to fight,” he adds, his voice a low whisper. “Every able bodied dwarf.”

Kili sinks against Bofur’s side. “Fight?” he murmurs, his voice obviously trembling with fear. Bofur slides an arm around him and tucks him close against his side.

“Where are the dwarflings going?” he asks his cousin.

“The younglings are being sent to the Great Halls,” he replies. Bofur starts to usher Kili in that direction, but Bifur stops him cold when he next speaks. “Gloin wants all of the ones who are well into their weapons training to fight,” he murmurs, with a meaningful glance to Kili’s face.

Kili can feel the blood drain from his face as the meaning of Bifur’s words sinks in. “I can’t...I don’t…” he mumbles, trying desperately to calm himself down.

“Absolutely not,” Bofur snaps. “He’s mad if he thinks Kili should be out in the fray. No, he’s going to the Halls with the rest of them.”

Bifur seems to sag with relief, and it’s clear to Kili that neither of his caretakers wish to see him anywhere near the oncoming battle. “Come on then,” the elder cousin urges, reaching for Kili’s other shoulder to pull him along. “Let’s get you tucked away, safe and sound.”

They’re nearly to the mouth of the halls when Gloin catches up with them. He looks frantic and desperate, even more so when Bofur tries to keep pushing Kili forward, to get him into the Halls before the gates can be shut.

“I’ll need you on the wall,” he declares, looking tired and aged beyond his years. “All three of you.”

“No,” Bifur snaps, just as Bofur murmurs, “He is a child.”

“I need an archer -” he declares, exasperated. “I need a good archer, at least one -”

“One archer won’t be enough to turn the tide,” Bofur snaps. “You’ll get him killed out there, and nothing else. He is a child, Gloin. He will stay with the rest of them in the Halls.”

“And don’t you forget just whose boy he is,” Bifur supplies meaningfully.

“You don’t understand!” Gloin all but wails. “There are hundreds, if not thousands of orcs headed toward us. I need every able bodied warrior I can find!”

“And are you putting your own son out in the fray?” Bofur snaps back, pushing Kili behind him in a protective gesture.

“Yes! He is to guard the gate of the Halls,” he murmurs, his eyes a mixture of sadness and regret. “If I had any other options, I would use them, Bofur. You must know this. Our dwarflings are few and far between - I wouldn’t risk them unnecessarily.”

Kili pushes himself in front of Bofur, eyes set with determination. “I can...I can do this,” he affirms despite the shaking in his voice. “I can. I can help.”

Bofur is squatting in front of him not a second later. “You don’t have to do this, laddie,” he pleads, his eyes shining with concern and just the barest hint of fear. “You don’t have to prove anything, not to anyone, you hear me?”

He nods. “I know...I know but I want...I just want everyone to be okay,” he whispers. “I want to help if I can.”

Bofur’s face falls and he looks resigned as he nods and stands back to face Gloin. “Not at the wall,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You can have him at the gate to the Halls, or not at all.”

“Of course, yes,” Gloin exhales, face visibly sagging in relief.

“And I am staying with him,” he elaborates.

“Yes, yes, absolutely,” Gloin murmurs as he claps a hand behind Kili’s neck, ducks down to press their foreheads together. “Be brave, laddie,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I haven’t let you train. I’m sorry.”

Somehow, Kili manages to find the words to accept the warrior’s apology, before he’s being hustled off to the smithy and the armory and outfitted properly for battle. Bofur’s worried eyes follow him the entire time, frowning when he sees that there is little armor that fits him (only a simple shirt of chainmail and a cuirass). They give Kili nearly half of all the arrows they can find, splitting the rest up among the men Gloin has chosen to be archers at the wall. His quiver is nearly full to bursting, but he still wonders if he’ll have enough.

“The second you run out of arrows I am getting you inside,” Bofur murmurs, seemingly having picked up on his thoughts. “I’m not keeping you out there any longer than I have to; do you understand me?”

The next few hours pass as a blur. At some point he and Bofur go to the training grounds to let him practice shooting a few arrows. His aim is horribly off and his hands are constantly shaking, but Bofur assures him that he will find his aim once the battle has started. He is force fed some broth and a small piece of bread, and before he knows it, he and Bofur are poised at the ledge above the gate to the Great Halls, just as the sun sinks below the horizon.

The settlement is eerily calm. The smoke from Fairfield has grown even thicker, and the pale haze is only illuminated by the flickering of torches that each of the battlements hold.

Below him, in front of the gate, Kili sees a few familiar faces. Gimli is off to the side, far enough on the outskirts to hopefully spare him from the worst of the fighting, should the orcs get so far. Nar had made it abundantly clear, when he had addressed the dwarrow earlier, that if the orcs were to breach the gate to the Great Halls, then all was lost. Kili desperately hoped they wouldn’t make it that far. Clach and Clavin, the younglings who had been so prone to teasing and torturing him not so long ago, are situated a little ahead of Gimli, with their father, both of them clutching at their sword hilts with white-knuckled grips. He can’t see where Bombur and Bifur have been positioned, but he hopes they will be safe. He knows Ori is inside the Hall, but knows not of his brothers.

He just wants everyone to be safe.

It is silent for hours, long enough that he’s started to hope that the orcs were done at Fairfield and decided to move along, and leave them alone. He even starts to feel a bit sleepy, as the adrenaline from the afternoon’s activity drains from him.

He’s jolted back to reality by the first blood-curdling orc call in the night, before all hell breaks loose.

Everything is chaos. It doesn’t take long for the orcs to breach the flimsy gate at the wall that is supposed to protect their settlement from the outside world. It is a long while before the orcs are close enough for them to see, close enough for him to aim at, and while he waits, he is forced to listen to the clash of metal upon metal, the screams of orc and dwarf alike. All of his courage wavers, and he finds himself staying pressed close against Bofur’s side, desperately wishing that he could climb down from atop the gate and hide with the rest of the dwarflings.

As soon as they orcs are close enough, Baen, one of Gloin’s men, gives the order for him and the five other archers perched along the wall to shoot.

He panics with the first shot. There are so many bodies moving about, and he isn’t sure which are orcs and which are dwarrow. He wars with himself, bowstring pulled tight as he tries to find a good target, desperately hoping that he doesn’t hit one of his own people. He’s never really had to shoot moving targets before, save for some gourds that Fili had tossed in the air for him to hit last autumn.

Everything is real and moving terrifyingly fast. It’s worse than any of his nightmares. He can’t do this. He can’t.

“Breathe, laddie,” Bofur encourages from behind him. “Breathe out and shoot. Relax. You’ll find your rhythm.”

Kili takes his advice, drawing in a deep, steadying breath before taking aim and releasing it just as he lets the arrow fly. It doesn’t hit its mark, not exactly, but it does bury itself into the leg of an orc, who howls in pain before collapsing to the ground, where three dwarrow were ready and able to take care of him.

“Good job,” he encourages from behind him. “Just remember to breathe and shoot.” Kili chances a look back at the toymaker, and sees his face wrought with concern, eyes scanning the mounting battle below them. There are hundreds of orcs flooding the town square, and Kili is sure they outnumber the dwarrow in the settlement, but everyone is fighting hard and he thinks that maybe they’ll win.

Everything passes in a blur. He’s caught up in a mantra of breathe, aim, shoot, and he’s lost count of how many arrows he has let fly. The orcs may have entered the settlement, but they still look far off from being able to breach the gate, and for that he is extremely grateful.

He is scanning below him to find another suitable target, when he sees it.

Clach, his childhood nemesis, one of the boys who had beaten him nearly to death, stands with an orc sword through his stomach. From right beside him, Clavin screams in absolute agony, completely oblivious to the orc that is coming up behind him. Without thinking, Kili notches an arrow and lets it fly, watches as it buries into the skull of the approaching orc, before immediately pulling another and taking out the other, whose sword still sits grotesquely in Clach’s chest.

“No!” he hears Clavin scream over the din of the battle, as the lad launches himself toward his brother and pulls him into his arms. Kili focuses on keeping the two of them safe, watching for any orcs that may come too close. If it were Fili, if he were losing Fili...he’d want every last second he could have with him.

He nearly panics when he reaches for another arrow and finds none. There are orcs all around the pair of brothers, and he can’t do anything...he can’t help them anymore. There are tears in his eyes and he turns frantically toward Bofur, who gives him a sympathetic look, but reaches for him to urge him back into the Halls just the same.

There’s a sudden, blinding pain in his side, just behind where the cuirass protects him, and he stumbles before falling to his knees.

“No!” Bofur is shouting suddenly, catching him and easing him the rest of the way to the ground as quick as he can.

His side feels like it’s on fire, and when he chances a glance down, he sees a jagged looking arrow bolt lodged in his side. He gasps weakly in pain, reaches desperately for Bofur as the burning pain in his side seems to spread with every breath that he takes. Bofur is saying something to him, shaking him and telling him to stay awake, but there’s blackness creeping into his vision and it feels so warm and inviting that he wants to go to it. He thinks he might be dying, and he wishes he could see his brother and his uncle, just one more time.

Bofur shakes him one more time before everything lurches and goes black.

\------

He is still in the blissful world right between sleep and wakefulness when fingers begin to comb through his hair. They’re stroking soothing patterns against his scalp, grasping up strands of his hair and tugging on them lightly as they braid his hair piece by piece. He wants to tell them to stop, that they’re wasting their time with his thin and wispy hair, but he can’t dine a way to make himself voice the words.

An unknown voice of a woman is singing one of his favorite lullabies; the one Fili said he remembered from their Mum. He wants to will his eyes to open, to see who it is that sits with him, but they refuse to do as he bids. It’s a calming person, whomever it is. He wishes he knew who the voice belonged to. He tries to sit up, tries to make himself move, but achieves little more than a slight twitching in his arms. Why can’t he move?

“No, dear heart,” the voice murmurs softly, hands not stilling their movement in his hair. “You mustn’t wake up, not here; not yet.”

“Want to…” he mumbles out, wondering why he can’t get his voice to work properly. There’s a stabbing pain in his side that he thinks could be made better with one of Oin draughts, if he could only wake up enough to take one. “Hurts,” he murmurs.

“I know it does,” she whispers again, hands still moving, before returning to the lullaby from before.

He struggles to open his eyes once more, and with great effort manages to get them open just a sliver to see pale blue eyes and rich ebony hair. She reminds him of Uncle Thorin, from the way she speaks, to the way she strokes his hair, to the way she looks. She seems like a nice dwarrowdam, one that he wouldn’t mind spending time with and telling secrets to.

Suddenly, it all clicks into place. “Mum,” he whispers, just as his eyes fall shut again. He wants to open them again, wants to see her face for himself, and he wants to know all of the little things he’s always wondered about her.

“Shh, darling,” she soothes, though her voice sounds impossibly sad. “Go back to sleep.”

“Wan’na stay with you,” he slurs out, even as her voice starts to fade away from him. He feels the barest flutter of panic in his chest; he doesn’t want to leave her. He wants to stay. He wants to be with her. “Please.”

“One day you will,” she promises, voice faint as a whisper. “One day, my darling.”

Her voice fades away completely, and he can no longer feel her hands in his hair. Everything is dark and cold, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaand there will be a Part 4. It’s cute how I started this one thinking it could be one chapter, isn’t it? Thanks for reading, lovies. :)


	13. Thirty-Four and Twenty-Eight - Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Whew. Writing this was…emotionally draining, to say the least. Yes, I torture our sweet boys in this chapter. A lot. But, there are some good years coming for them; I promise! I hope you all enjoy this last part.
> 
> Also, Kili is about the human equivalent of 11, Fili is about 13ish.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: References to death, references to battle/violence/mild gore, trigger warning: panic attack, potty words, and waaaayyyy more angst than I should have added.

How had things all gone so very, very wrong?

That was the question he was constantly asking himself now, as he sat on a cot in the would-be Great Hall turned hospital ward, Bifur with an axe buried in his skull to his right, and Kili, who shuddered through the effects of a poisoned arrow, tucked securely against his left. He’d escaped with naught but bruises and a few scrapes, but he had been obscenely fortunate. Kili and Bifur were too, though they probably didn’t realize, for they’d managed to escape with their lives, and that was more than most of the settlement could boast of.  
He’d panicked when Kili had fallen, jagged orc arrow through his side. The lad had already seen so much, been through so much - he’d wanted nothing more than to get him into the safety of the Halls before any harm could befall the lad, and he’d failed. If he’d been just a second faster…

No, he scolds himself. No blaming yourself.

Kili had been lucky. The poison in the arrow had been a rather common one, one that Oin had been able to provide an antidote for the second he’d rushed the lad into his makeshift infirmary. The chainmail he wore, though weak enough to allow the arrow through, had stopped it from going too deep and causing any irreparable damage. But, the poison had plenty of time to take, and Kili still had a bit of a fight ahead of him as the toxin continued to work its way out of his body.

A violent shudder works its way through the lad’s form, and he hastily reaches for the nearby washcloth, dips it into a basin of cool water and presses it along the lad’s fevered brow, hoping that the coolness is a small comfort to the unconscious youth.

Bifur had been even luckier, at least so far, though only time would tell if he would survive this ordeal at all. He hadn’t known what to think when his cousin, the dwarf who had told him stories and taught him how to carve and convinced him to leave the mines and work with him as a toymaker, the cousin who had been more an elder brother than anything else, had been all but dragged into the infirmary, ghastly axe still lodged in his skull and blood covering his face. Oin had decided not to remove the axe, for fear of causing him to bleed to death, since he was still breathing and his heart was still beating. They had no idea what to expect when he woke, or if he would wake at all. Oin seemed confident enough that he would, but it still didn’t alleviate the hours of anxious waiting.

“Is…is he…are they going to be...be okay?” an unusually quiet and timid voice calls out to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. Little Gimli, with his hair askew and eyes swollen and rimmed red from crying, sits gently on the foot of his cot, his eyes constantly flitting from Kili to Bifur and back.

He manages a small smile, for the sake of the lad and no one else. “They’ll be right as rain with time. You’ll see.”

Gimli nods but still looks anxious. “Can I…?” he murmurs, clearly on the verge of tears once more, and Bofur gestures for him to come closer. Gimli practically crawls into his lap, immediately buries his face in his chest and lets out a shuddering sigh. He lifts a free hand up to hold the lad close, murmuring encouragements all the while. He wishes he could help more, but he knows there’s not much else he can do.

Losing his mother and baby sister was more of a hurt than he can ever hope to assuage.

The orcs had managed to break through the gate to the Halls, not long after he had struggled to get Kili inside and treated by Oin. All hell had broken lose then; it had been complete and utter chaos. He’d barely had enough time to realize what was happening before he’d dragged Kili’s limp form to the closest wall, covered him with his body and played dead as best as he could. He wonders if he should have gotten up and fought, if it would have made any difference, but he had promised to look after Kili, and, for better or worse, the princeling had been his first priority.

The dwarrow had followed the orcs in, managed to corner and kill all of them that had gotten inside and win the fight, but their losses had been great. So many of their dwarflings and dwarrodams had perished or been seriously injured. So many of those who had already been wrought with illness had been struck down with such thoughtlessness. So many of those who had been placed inside the halls to keep them safe…

How had things gone so wrong?

This settlement was supposed to represent a fresh start, to be the new home of so many that had already lost so much, and they just kept losing more.

He doesn’t understand how any of this is fair, how the Maker allows them to go through such pain. He looks at the two boys that sit with him, one fighting the desperation that threatens to drown him, the other fighting to stay alive, and doesn’t understand how two so young could have lived through such hurts already.

It isn’t fair. None of this is fair.

But then again, life for the dwarrow has never been.

\------

Everything hurts.

He feels like he is positively on fire. Every nerve ending is screaming at him, begging him to make it stop, but he doesn’t know how. He knows he needs to move but he cannot figure out how. Everything around him is black, and it’s pressing in on him like nothing he’s ever known. He needs to get out. He needs to escape, but he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even think clearly. There are hands on him now, pressing against his face, pulling him into strange directions. He wants them to stop but he can’t make himself voice the words.

Everything hurts and he feels so alone. He wants to give up, wants to stop fighting, but something is telling him not to. Something is telling him to keep fighting. There’s the briefest flash of gold at the corner of his vision, and he thinks he hears Fili calling him.

Then something lurches inside of him and all he knows is pain.

\------

Bofur barely has time to get Gimli off of his lap and pull Kili into a sitting position before the older lad retches violently off the side of the cot. One of the younger healers, one whose name he can’t remember, comes running, bringing a chamber pot with him to help with the sick.

“Breathe, lad,” Bofur urges, twisting himself so that Kili is nearly in his lap, his arms coming to wrap around the boy’s middle in what he hopes is a comforting embrace. Gimli’s eyes are wide, but he reaches out one hand to stroke along Kili’s arm in an attempt to help calm him down.

“No, Fee,” Kili chokes out as he starts to struggle against Bofur’s hold, forcefully jerking his arm away from Gimli. “Help me, Fee! Uncle!” His voice takes on a desperate tone as he thrashes against him. “Help!”

“Shh, Kili,” he murmurs. “Hush, lad; it’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Uncle, please,” he whispers, though he stops struggling and sags back against Bofur’s chest, a tiny, broken sob escaping him as he does. 

Tears are running in steady rivulets down his cheeks, and he’s trembling something awful.

“Shh,” he soothes again, hands moving to brush away the sweaty strands of hair that cling to the boy’s face. The healer brings up another cool cloth to wipe away the sick and sweat, before pressing a smooth jug against Kili’s lips and urging him to drink.

“That’s it,” he encourages quietly. “Drink some more. It’ll help flush the poison out.”

Kili obediently takes a long drink from the jug before pulling away and coughing pitifully. “That’s it,” Bofur encourages quietly, patting the lad’s back gently before laying him back down on the cot at the healer’s instruction.

“Keep a good eye on him. Make him drink some water every hour or so” the healer demands, rising from his spot on the floor. “The next few hours are going to be rather difficult, I’m afraid.” His eyes fix on Kili’s slender form, a concerned frown stretched across his face, before setting about cleaning up the sick and tending to his other charges.

Bofur brushes a calloused hand across Kili’s face, frowning at the heat he feels there. The lad is drawing shallow, hiccupping breaths, his whole form shaking with gentle tremors. He shifts just slightly, and his face screws up in pain as he draws in a ragged gasp.

“Are you cold, laddie?” he asks, hopeful that a warm blanket might help the trembling in the boy’s limbs. Kili nods the affirmative, albeit slowly, before letting out another pitiful whine. He glances up to Gimli, who still sits at the foot of his cot, wide eyed and visibly shaken. “Fetch a blanket for me, won’t you lad?” he asks.

Gimli is up like a shoot, hurrying about the hall in search for a blanket.

“Hurts,” Kili mumbles from beside him, drawing his attention away from the young dwarfling.

“I know,” he sighs, reaching for the cool cloth and wiping the lad’s face once more. “It’s the poison, lad. Oin thinks it will run its course quickly enough,” he explains.

“Where is everyone?” he mumbles. “I saw...I saw Gimli but where’s…?”

“Bifur’s right here, resting up just like you,” he says, trying his best to sound reassuring, but his voice cracks on the last few words as he turns to regard his wounded cousin. “Bombur’s okay; he’s helping to cook food. He should be around soon enough.”

“An…and Ori?” Kili asks, just as Gimli returns with a rather scratchy looking blanket, one that he quickly sets about placing overtop of his new friend.

Bofur sighs. “Haven’t seen him or his brothers yet, to be truthful,” he admits as he helps Gimli to tuck the blanket around their injured archer. “I’ll try to find word on him, alright? All I know is that he and Dori were barricaded in their home; they weren’t in the halls when…” he trails off, not yet about the bring voice to the atrocity he’d seen.

“I saw...I saw Clach and…” Kili starts, but a rough sob cuts him off. Bofur runs a hand through the lad’s hair; he had seen too. “It was awful...it was…” he shudders, dissolving fully into tears then. Bofur pulls him up, draws him close to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around him.

He looks up and meets Gimli’s tear-filled eyes, before extending an arm out to his as well. He youngster needs no further invitation, as he immediately slots himself against Kili’s back, wraps his arms around his friend as he cries out his own anguish.

Bofur holds them both, probably tighter than he needs to, daring to hope that his embrace will keep the lads safe, that it will shield them from further pain and loss.

He hates that he knows it won’t.

\------

When he wakes again, he is alone.

The Great Hall is dark and eerily quiet. He immediately reaches across the cot, pats his hand around to try and find Bofur or Gimli’s form, but the sheets are cool and he nearly falls off the cot himself trying to find them. Fear starts to claw its way up his spine. He’s alone. He doesn’t want to be alone, He needs to find Bofur or Gimli or Ori or someone because he cannot bear the thought of being alone.  
He drags himself upright, heaving with the effort that it takes for his exhausted body, and swings his legs to the side of the cot. The cold of the stone stings the pads of his feet as they touch, and he recoils for just a second before pressing his feet down to the floor once more. He has to find them.

He cannot be alone.

His legs are horribly unsteady as he stands, and his knees give out on the first step that he takes, sending him toppling to the hard stone. With a small, frustrated cry, he pushes himself back up, only mildly alarmed at how much effort it seems to take, at how hard it is to just breathe. With a great deal of effort, and by pulling himself up with the assistance of the cot, he manages to get himself standing again, only to take another step that his legs could not support, and wind up back on the floor.

He feels like he’s drowning, then. Desperation claws at him. He cannot be alone.

He can’t. He can’t.

He gives up on walking. His legs feel like they’re made of lead, and he knows he won’t be able to get far. With a tiny whimper, he starts to pull himself with his hands, but it’s so hard to find purchase on the rough stone and why can’t he breathe? He keeps taking in big, gasps full of air but none of it seems to reach his lungs and he’s cold and he’s scared and alone. He keeps crawling, keeps pulling himself along, keeps trying to breathe but he can’t and his head is starting to feel so fuzzy and there’s a deafening roar in his ears and why is he alone?

There’s light all around him then, and voices, but he doesn’t know who they belong to. He tries to recoil into himself, does his best to curl up into a ball despite the pain that flares up in his side. There’s hands on him then, pulling him up and wrapping around him and holding him and rubbing his back and he knows those hands. He’s safe, he knows, but he still can’t breathe.

He’s not alone anymore.

The roar starts to fade from his ears, and he can hear someone crying and someone speaking. He can hear someone gasping for breath and someone shouting frantically.

He can feel Bofur’s fingers carding through his hair, can hear him murmuring that everything will be alright, can hear that he sounds shit-scared.

“Breathe, laddie, breathe,” he’s murmuring. “Come on now; you can do it. Breathe, Kili; I need you to breathe.” He sounds so worried, so scared and he’s never heard Bofur sound like that and he never wants him to again, so he does his best to focus on the older dwarf’s words. Belatedly, he realizes that the screaming and crying was coming from him, and he takes deep, steadying breaths of air to calm himself down. “That’s it,” Bofur encourages, so he tries to continue, but it’s so hard…

“I thought…” he gasps, suddenly realizing that he is shaking something awful. “I thought I was alone,” he whispers, finally aware of his hands again, so he curls them into the fabric over Bofur’s chest, despite the fact that his hands feel like they are on fire.

“I’m sorry,” Bofur whispers, and Kili can tell that he’s crying too. “I just left for a moment to check on Bifur; I’m sorry, lad. I’m so, so sorry.”  
The world slowly comes back into focus. He becomes aware of how Bofur is rocking him back and forth, of how the light has dimmed, of how those awful screams and gasps have faded, of how cold the stone is under his legs, of how much his hands and side burn.

“I need to see your hands, lad,” another voice asks, one that he dimly recognizes as the healer who’d helped him before. With great reluctance, he lets go of Bofur’s shirt, but is alarmed to find his fingers covered in blood.

The healer examines his hands carefully, and when he flips them over to examine his palms, Kili audibly gasps. There are three deep cuts on his left palm, cuts that he hadn’t truly felt before, but now that he sees them he is all too aware of how much it stings. He winces as the healer prods at him, highly dismayed by the streams of blood coming from them. He must have cut them on the stone but he hadn’t even felt it…

“We’ll have to stitch these,” the healer murmurs a moment later. “Come on; let’s get you up.”

Bofur helps him to stand on shaky legs and leads him the few steps back to the cot. He’s in a different room than before, he realizes. The last time he’d woken he’d been in the Great Hall with hundreds of others, but now he is in a small room that had just two cots and no one else. He looks up to Bofur to voice his question about where he is, but falls silent when he notices the bloody handprint on the front of his tunic and the stricken expression on his normally carefree face. He’s led back to the cot and sat down so that his back is propped against the cool stone of the wall behind him. The healer comes with a small basin of water and several washrags, and uses one to start cleaning at the cuts on his hand. Bofur takes another sighs as he sets about wiping his cheeks, clearing away the salty tracks left by his tears.

“M’sorry,” he murmurs finally, pointedly looking away as the healer prepares to stitch his wounds closed. “I just…I didn’t know where you were.” He winces as the needle presses through his skin the first time, and Bofur cups his cheek before pressing their foreheads together.

“It’s alright lad,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We moved you in here so you could rest better, since the poison seems to have worked itself out. Bifur woke up not long ago, so I went to check on him. I should have woke you first, but I just…” he frowns and shakes his head. “I wanted you to rest. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kili mumbles, feeling incredibly drained. He hisses in pain as the healer continues to stitch him back together. “Is Mister Bifur alright?”

A shadow passes across the toymaker’s face. “Physically, yes; he’ll be fine. But he doesn’t...he can’t seem to remember how to speak at all.”

Kili’s head snaps up in alarm. “What?” His favorite thing about Bifur is listening to the older dwarf tell stories while they carve things together, rare as those instances were, and Bifur has always had such a beautiful way with words that he just can’t imagine him not being able to speak.

“From the head wound,” Bofur clarifies, and Kili’s heart positively breaks from the remorseful expression on his features. “Oin doesn’t think it will go away. He was able to use iglishmek, but the words just...weren’t there.”

He doesn’t know what to say, but he is thankful that the three of them have survived. “What about…?” he starts to ask, unwilling to finish the question because he knows he won’t be able to take bad news.

“Ori is fine,” Bofur replies, giving him a small smile. “Nori is here; he broke his leg but he should heal up fine. He said that Dori and Ori stayed locked up in their home, though a few orcs did get in that he took care of. Might not look it, but Dori’s always been a strong enough fighter.”

“All done,” the healer interrupts quietly, and Kili looks back to examine his new stitches. “I’ll get you bandaged up, but those shouldn’t take too long to heal.”

“Where’s Gimli?” he asks. “If he was here does that mean he was hurt?”

“He’s not...physically hurt,” Bofur murmurs, sighing heavily. “He...his mum...and the baby...they didn’t…”

Kili is shaking his head, disbelief clouding his features. “No,” he murmurs. “No, no, no. That’s not fair...that’s not...”

Bofur sighs and cards a hand through his hair, before pulling his head against his shoulder. “It’s not fair,” he agrees. “Not at all.”

\------

“Thank you,” a young dwarf lass murmurs as Kili hands her a few steaming bowls of stew. It’s been two days since he woke up for good, five days since the orc attack. He’s slept little, and the few short naps he’s taken have been filled with nightmares. Bombur had taken him up on his offer to help out in the kitchen, to help make sure that those who needed a meal were able to get one. He’s realized how fortunate he is with every interaction he’s had. There’s not a single dwarf he’s seen that hasn’t lost someone, be it a loved one or a friend. Sadness permeates through the air, and he can feel it in every breath, pressing in on him constantly.

He wishes Thorin and Fili’s trip hadn’t been kept such a secret. He wants to send a raven, wants to hear from them, to know that they are all right, but he can’t, not if it means putting their safety at risk. Thorin had been absolutely clear that they not send word unless it was absolutely necessary, for fear of attracting unwanted attention. He needs to know that they are okay, that they haven’t met with any trouble on the road, that Dain hasn’t brought any ill-will with him.

He needs Fili because he’s can feel himself falling apart, and Fili’s always been the best at putting him back together.

“Kili,” he snaps himself out of his revere, looks up to see Clavin, his hair hanging limply around his face and his beard unbraided. His eyes are rimmed red and swollen and Kili’s fairly certain he hasn’t slept since the attack and he can’t blame him for a second. If he had lost Fili...if he ever had to see Fili die he doesn’t think he could take it.

“Clavin,” he murmurs, using his good hand to fill a bowl of stew, unsure of what to say.

“I need five,” he explains. “For my sisters and my mum.”

Kili just nods, grateful for the distraction as he fills the requested bowls and balances them on a tray.

“I just…” Clavin starts as he finishes filling the last bowl. “I just wanted to say…to thank you.”

Kili frowned. “I was too late,” he murmurs. “I didn’t see in time. I could have…”

“No, you…”he interrupts, his face twisted in a pained expression. “You couldn’t have saved him. It…there was too much...it…” he stammers. “But you...you gave me the chance to say goodbye and I...thank you.”

Kili feels tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he nods.

“And I’m sorry,” he adds. “I...I was a stupid kid, and I thought I was...better than you, because you’re different, and that...that wasn’t fair. And the fight...oh, Aule…”

“It’s okay,” Kili murmurs, surprised that he means it. “It…it’s okay. I’m fine now and…it’s...it’s okay.”

There are tears in Clavin’s eyes when he meets them again. “Thank you,” the older lad whispers as he reaches for the tray. He gives Kili a soft, timid smile before disappearing back into the halls.

Kili scrubs at his own eyes with the back of his hand before forcing himself to get back to work, lest he start dwelling too much.

\-----

Finally, finally they can see the ruined wall of the settlement before them. The air smells thickly of smoke and ash is still floating up from their home. The sun is shining, the sky is clear and bright, but it all seems so mockingly calm. Thorin spurs his pony on, nearly running it into the ground in his haste to get home. Fili and Dwalin are right behind him, and Balin and the guard are just a few leagues back. They’re barely inside the settlement before they’ve launched themselves off of the ponies. Balin and the guard set about wrangling them and corralling them into the stables, while Thorin, Fili, and Dwalin burst into the town square.

It’s full of death.

Fili almost screams at the sight of it. It’s been days and there are still bodies everywhere. There are quite a few dwarrow bustling about, loading bodies of orcs onto wagons and dragging them away to be burned. Still others are carefully collecting their own dead so they can be returned to the stone, trying to identify those that have been lost to report to their families. It is carnage and death and loss and the smell of it makes Fili sick.

He needs to find Kili; he needs to find his baby brother right now because damn him if he mucked everything up just to lose him, damn him if he never gets to fix what he broke because he had been so stupid.

“Thorin!” Gloin calls out, looking entirely exasperated and at his wits end. He looks thin and frail and worn and it shakes Fili to his core because he’s never seen any of his kin in such a state.

“Where is Kili?” his uncle asks as soon as they are close enough, not bothering to hide the desperation in his voice.

“In the Hall,” Gloin answers quickly. “He was injured in the battle but he’ll recover. Thorin, I need to speak with you. Nar is dead, and we need you to…”

“What do you mean he was in the battle?” Fili nearly shrieks as soon as Gloin’s words process for him. “You made him fight?”

“I didn’t have a choice! We needed every able-bodied dwarf we could get,” he explains, but he does quiver under Dwalin and Thorin’s murderous glares.

“Come on, lad,” Dwalin mutters gruffly, dragging Fili by his arm in the direction of the Halls.

“You put my boy’s life at risk,” Thorin all but growls, eyes narrowed and hand subconsciously reaching for his sword. “He was injured? He could have died…”

“I had to! Gimli fought as well...and…” Gloin heaves out a heavy sigh. “Kili fought bravely, Thorin. He saved many lives. He...he was injured, yes, but he will be fine…”

“He is a child!” Thorin shouts. “Though I would wager he isn’t any longer, is he? Not really. You had no right…”

“Da, they’re ready to give Mum and Colina to the stone,” a small voice cuts in, and Gloin squeezes his eyes shut. Thorin turns to regard Gimli, who looks a bit bruised but otherwise no worse for wear. Then the lad’s words sink in, and he realizes, with a terrifying chillness to his gut, just what Gloin has lost.

“I did what I had to, Thorin,” Gloin murmurs one last time. “I’m sorry.”

Thorin is stunned into silence. Then the realization that Kili probably would have been kept with Aerona and Colina and the other dwarrodams and dwarflings hits, that he could have been killed alongside them, and a chill that is not at all from the cold air washes over him.

\------

“Kili!” an all too familiar voice calls out, and Bombur shouts out in delighted surprise from behind him. He drops the bowl of soup he’d just filled, barely cares as it clatters down to the floor to be wasted before big, strong arms wrap tightly around him.

“Dwalin?” he calls out, disbelieving, but tightens his hold on the warrior nonetheless.

Dwalin pulls him back to look him in the eyes, and Kili is shocked to see the tears brimming there. “Oh, laddie. Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

Kili nods. “I’m okay,” he promises. “I’m...I’ll be fine. Where’s Fee? And Uncle?”

Dwalin pulls him back in, hugs him impossibly tight as he presses a kiss against his temple. “Right behind me; we weren’t sure where you were. We split up to find you.” Dwalin easily hefts him up into his arms, and Kili wraps his arms around his neck and tightens his legs around his waist.

Unexpectedly, he dissolves into tears. “I was...I was so scared,” he admits as he presses his face into Dwalin’s neck, wanting to hide his tears but mostly craving the embrace of a man he’d come to regard as an uncle his entire life. “I missed you all so much.” He is filled with relief that they have all made it home, that everyone is all right and that they will all be together again soon. His heart feels lighter than it has in months. He loves Bofur, really he does, but Dwalin and Balin, Thorin and Fili are his family. He never wants to be without them again.

“Shh,” Dwalin soothes as he carries him away from the kitchens. “It’s alright; we’re all alright. Everything will be fine now.”

Despair still clings to him. He’s seen too much, lost too much. “No it won’t!” he sobs. “It’s not okay. It’s...everything is wrong.” He’s dimly aware of being set back on his feet, but Dwalin’s arms are still warm and tight around him.

“It is,” he admits, his hands coming down to rub comfortingly at his back. “But it will...time heals all things, lad. You’ll see.” Kili can tell that his voice is choked with tears, and another kiss is pressed against his temple.

“Kili!” a voice calls from nearby, and Kili practically rips himself away from Dwalin before flinging himself at his brother.

“Fili, Fili, Fili,” he chants like a mantra, gripping his brother close and sobbing harder than he ever has in his life. He doesn’t want to be separated from Fili, not ever again. Fili is crying too, and hugging him so incredibly close and for the first time in days he feels safe, he feels like maybe everything will be okay. Fili is speaking to him, but he can’t make out most of his words. But he’s here and they’re speaking and by Aule, Fili must’ve gotten taller and bigger and stronger because Kili feels so impossibly small in his embrace.

Fili pulls back from him, holds him at an arms length and look him over. “Are you hurt?” he manages to say, though his voice is tight with emotions Kili can’t even name, and his eyes are full with tears.

“I’ll be fine,” he replies, just as Fili’s gaze catches the bandages on his hand.

“Just your hand?” he murmurs, frowning deeply when Kili shakes his head. With a small amount of hesitation, he lifts his shirt to reveal the still-healing wound in his side. It looks monumentally worse than it feels, still swollen around the small puncture and bruised black and purple and yellow, and he promises as much to Fili when his elder brother’s eyes widen like saucers, and even Dwalin lets out a small gasp of surprise.

“Poison?” the warrior asks, running timid fingers around the edge of the bruising.

Kili nods. “But it’s all out of me now. I’m okay. I promise, Fee.”

Fili doesn’t look the slightest bit convinced, but he nods anyway. “You’re so skinny,” he whispers instead as he pulls Kili back to his chest. “I’ve been wearing silks and furs and feasting and you’ve been...I’m sorry. I should have been here for you. I should have…”

“Stop,” Kili whispers. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine; we’ll all be fine.” He tucks his head in against Fili’s chest and hugs him back, trying to focus on evening out his breathing again. He turns his head back to look at Dwalin, to ask him about Balin, when he sees his uncle running down the hallway towards them. A wide smile splits his face; it had been a great comfort to hear that his uncle was all right, but to see him again…

“Uncle!” he cries out, disentangling one hand from Fili and extending it toward him (he’s far too reluctant to let go of his brother just yet) just as Thorin drops to his knees in front of them. He reaches out trembling hands to cup Kili’s cheeks, brings him in close and kisses his forehead, breathing out words of love and relief in Khuzdul before wrapping his arms around both of them and holding them tight.

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s scared and he’s hungry and he’s weak, but he has his family again, and he’s fairly certain that there isn’t much that matters past that.

\------

Dwalin sighs as he sinks into the settee opposite the armchair Thorin is currently occupying. He can hear Fili and Kili speaking quietly from the direction of their room, and he’s fairly certain that at least one of them is in tears, but he wants to give them their privacy after so long apart, especially with all that had happened just before they’d left.

“Thank you again for letting us stay with you,” Balin murmurs as he emerges from the kitchen. The Fundin brothers had returned to their home to find it absolutely in shambles. The orcs must have thought there was something of value hiding out in there, as they’d ransacked the entire place. Thorin’s home had been mostly untouched, though the door had been broken in and would need mending in the coming days.

“It’s nothing,” Thorin replies automatically, eyes locked on the dying fire in the hearth. “Better than having you stay in the Halls when there’s so much sickness there.” Balin nods in agreement before excusing himself to the guest room, clearly fatigued after evening meetings with Gloin regarding Nar’s wishes that Thorin become head of the settlement after him.

“It will be fine,” Dwalin comments once his brother has left. “Good practice for ruling before we get back to Erebor.”

“I know,” Thorin agrees, before falling silent once more. Dwalin can see the practical storm brewing on his face, and has so many questions to ask of his friend that he isn’t quite sure how to put into words.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Thorin murmurs a while later, eyes still fixed on the fire, but the rest of his face is filled with doubt and hesitation. “I...this was never supposed to be just me. It should be father leading the settlement, not me.” He sniffles just slightly, and Dwalin manages to catch sight of the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “I should still have Frerin and Dis with me...I was never any good without their help...it shouldn’t be me...I’m not...I don’t know if I can do this by myself.”

Dwalin sighs, rises from the settee before kneeling in front of the armchair. It is rare for him to see such self-doubt in his friend, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he should, or could do for him. “Look at me, Thorin,” he urges quietly, offering up a small, supportive smile when he does as he’s asked. “You are a great leader, a great king; we all see it in you. We trust in you…”

“And what if I’m not deserving of that trust?” he murmurs, sounding lost. “Fili and Kili...I’ve not done right by them. Fili is so full of doubt that I’ve let fester in him...and Kili...Kili should be dead from my negligence, by all counts; it’s a miracle he survived, luck.”

“Shut up,” Dwalin scolds, though not unkindly.

“If I can’t even manage two dwarflings, how am I to care for this entire settlement?” Thorin whispers piteously

“You had no way of knowing this would happen,” he reminds.

Thorin scoffs. “And how were we so horrendously unprepared?”

“But we need someone to guide us through the darkness once more; we need you to set us right again,” he continues.

“And if I can’t?” Thorin asks, blinking rapidly in an attempt to clear the tears in his vision. 

“You can,” Dwalin murmurs, pressing their foreheads together. “I’ve followed you through hell on earth, my friend. I know you can lead us to prosperity once more.”

His king looks wholly unconvinced, but he isn’t able to speak with him further, for Kili meanders back into the front room, wearing an oversized blue sweater and cradling his injured hand close to his chest. “Uncle?” he calls, voice quiet and unsure. “Are you alright?”

Thorin has to chuckle humorlessly at that. No matter what, Kili has always been able to pick up on his emotions, and apparently now he can do it through walls. He tiredly rubs at his face, hoping that he just looks tired and not like he was near the brink of tears. “I’m fine, my boy,” he murmurs finally, and Dwalin rises from his spot on the floor before excusing himself to bed, ruffling Kili’s hair as he passes him by. “Are you?” he asks.

He knows Kili’s not. He’s naught but skin and bones, and is almost frightfully pale after his ordeal with the poison. There are dark circles under his eyes, his cheeks are far too hollow, and he’s holding himself like he’s afraid the very floor will open up underneath him and swallow him whole.

The lad only hesitates for a second before shaking his head no. “I saw...it was...it was awful, Uncle.”

He knows. He was just about Kili’s age when the dragon came. That had been the first time he had seen death, and it had haunted him to this very day. He’d never wanted that for Kili, never wanted that for either of them, but he’d failed them. Again.

“Come on then,” he says, gathering his courage and walking over to the boy. “You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he confesses. “I’ll stay with you - you and your brother - so you can get some sleep.” Kili looks immensely relieved, and offers him a small smile and a nod, before taking his hand as Thorin leads him back to his bedroom.

They fall asleep in a way that they haven’t since the lads were very small, Thorin on his side with Kili curled against his chest and Fili spooned behind him, and for a moment, he lets himself think that all is not lost, that he hasn’t failed them entirely, that he can do this.

But Kili is thrashing and screaming after less than an hour, fighting invisible demons, and Fili looks so utterly horrified and lost, and all he can do is wonder how things had gone so very wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there you have it, my dears. This monstrously long series of events has finally come to a close. But a storm is brewing, isn’t it?


	14. Forty and Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Wee here’s another chapter. We’re getting to the good stuff now. Looks like our boys might need to leave for a quest soon! As always, thank you all so much for your kind words. =)
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Dwalin says potty words, depiction of animal death (aka Kíli and Dwalin go hunting), memories of past battles and panic attacks, probably crap writing.

He’s not falling asleep. He’s not. He’s listening very intently to Balin’s lessons about ancient dwarven history. He’s absolutely enthralled by his description of how the first documented case of thievery was tried and how it led to the development of their current laws. Positively riveted.

Absolutely enthralled. One hundred percent.

He’s not at all jealous of Kíli, who is probably still passed out in their bed from the effects of the sleeping draught Oin had provided him with the day before. Actually, the more he thinks on it, he truly isn’t jealous of his little brother at all. Kíli hasn’t slept well in the years since the attack that decimated their settlement, not without horrible night terrors that leave him screaming and shaking and completely terrified. He knew how much Kíli dreaded sleep, how late he stayed up, how hard he pushed himself to make sure that when he did sleep, he was wholly exhausted, because the night terrors weren’t so bad then.

Thorin had been worried sick about him, though he abysmally tried to hide it. Kíli was still horribly scrawny and weak, despite the facts that food was more plentiful now and he trained with Dwalin most days. There was just something off with him, something that still hadn’t quite healed within him, even though all of the physical wounds have faded with time.

Oin had suggested the sleeping draughts for when he became too frayed and tired. It worked well; Kíli always woke from them completely refreshed and renewed, and it was in those instances that Fíli could clearly see the little brother that he loved so dearly shine through, then that he could pretend they hadn’t lived through such horrors and that everything was all right. Kíli was doing much better now, really he was, but when he took those draughts he was completely knocked out, sometimes for days, and Fíli missed his little brother dearly.

He just wanted everything to be normal again; he wanted everything to be okay.

“Are you even listening to me, laddie?” Balin scolds, though his voice holds little menace.

“No,” he admits. “I’m worried about Kíli.”

Balin sighs, removing the spectacles from his face and pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. “I think we all are,” he murmurs as he shuts the book they were looking at closed. “He’s a lot...a lot like your uncle, honestly.”

Fíli feels a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Kíli had always been overly prone to brooding and thinking too much. And on top of that he was even starting to look more and more like their uncle.

“He’s about the same age that Thorin was when Erebor fell; just a tad older,” his tutor elaborates. “Brooding in much the same way - not sleeping, pushing himself too hard, things like that.”

Fíli frowns just a bit. “But Uncle got better, didn’t he?”

Balin sighs once more. “In a way, yes. But, as you will unfortunately learn, there are some hurts that never truly go away, some things that, once they’re seen, stick with you for all time. I think...I think it will be a long time before your brother truly returns to us, if at all.” He looks sad in a way that his tutor often doesn’t, and it pulls at Fíli’s heart just a bit to see him so.

“I wish we had been here to help,” he murmurs a moment later. “We could have...we could have kept him safe. You know?”

Balin gives him a sad smile as he nods in agreement. “Aye, laddie. I know.”

\------

Thorin slams the door their relatively new home shut, wincing a bit as he belatedly remembers that Kíli was probably still asleep, and he had most likely woken him up in a spectacularly terrifying fashion.

He couldn’t help it. He was just so frustrated. The years since the attack had been hard, but he’d managed to see them through. They’d transitioned from their homes in the side of the cavern to the Great Halls, which were more easily defensible. In some ways, it was a great source of pride for him, for his halls were reminiscent of Erebor and they were a more safe and appropriate home for his people.

On the other hand, however, it was a step toward making their settlement in Ered Luin a more permanent one, and in some ways it felt like he was abandoning Erebor to make such a stable home for his people so very far away from their true home. It felt a bit like he was giving up on reclaiming their homeland, but the safety of his people was his first priority.

Dain had sent more than one letter insinuating that he must have abandoned Erebor all together, and he’d taken that with a grain of salt. He knew that he would return to reclaim their home one day, no matter how much the other clans were starting to doubt him.

The only thing that bothered him was that his own people had started to doubt him, that they no longer believed they would ever be going home. That stung him quite a bit, but he vowed to prove them wrong.

“Uncle?” Kíli calls from the hall after poking his head out to see what the noise was about. He is bleary eyed and his hair is a mess, and it tears at Thorin to know that he’s roused him from his much-needed slumber.

“Go back to sleep, dear heart,” he murmurs. “I am sorry I woke you.”

“It’s okay,” Kíli mumbles sleepily as he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ve probably slept too long anyhow.”

“You need to rest,” he chides lightly as he crosses the front hall to meet him. “Come, let’s get you back to bed.”

“M’not a baby,” Kíli whines, with no real weight to it, as he obediently heads back toward his bedroom and crawls back under the furs.

“You’re not,” Thorin affirms as he follows after him before tucking him in tightly and pressing a kiss against his brow, knowing in his heart that Kíli’s innocence had been ripped away long ago. The lad’s eyes are already drooping, and he is immensely relieved that he hadn’t woken Kíli enough that the sleeping draught would lose its effectiveness. He knows how badly his youngest needs to rest, knows because Kíli is so much like him, in all of the worst ways. “Do you want me to sing to you?”

Kíli sleepily nods, and Thorin settles himself on the bed, wit his back pressed against the headboard. Unsurprisingly, Kíli curls toward him, wraps his arms around Thorin’s leg and presses himself close. He can’t help but chuckle just a little bit, and reaches down to card his hands through the lad’s hair.

“I love you, you know,” he murmurs, surprised at the way his voice thickens with emotion. 

“I know,” Kíli whispers back, his voice slurred with fatigue. “Love you.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you, he wants to say. I’m sorry you’re suffering. I’m sorry that I let you down. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Instead, he starts to sing quietly, hoping that Kíli knows how he feels, hoping that, despite all of his failures, the lad will never start to doubt him, too.

It’s his greatest fear, truthfully, that one day his boys will look upon him with hate and disgust, instead of the love and adoration they regard him with now.

And Aule knows he’d deserve it if they did.

\------

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Fíli asks as soon as Kíli and Dwalin have slipped from the room, eyeing the provisions the pair had packed for their hunting expedition.

“It’ll be good for Kíli,” Thorin murmurs. “He’s not complaining overly so about it, but we’re babying him too much. We have to give him some of his independence back. We can’t keep watching every step that he takes.”

“I know but...three days? In the wilds?” Fíli chews his lower lip nervously.

“We cannot treat him like he is made of glass, Fíli,” Thorin murmurs softly before reaching over to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. “Besides, I trust Dwalin more than I trust myself to keep the two of you safe.”

Fíli still looks wholly unconvinced, but he nods anyway.

“It will be good for him,” he says again, not sure if he’s reassuring Fíli or trying to convince himself. “He’s been looking forward to this for years.”

“Thorin!” Balin calls out, bursting into their home with little pretense (not that he truly ever required any). “We need you in the Council Hall. Immediately” He appears around the corner of the hall, looking uncharacteristically frazzled. “Dain is here.”

\------

“I must admit,” Dain murmurs as they step into the Council Hall, not bothering to rise from his seat to greet his hosts. “You’ve done a fantastic job creating these halls. What a fine place to build your new kingdom.”

“This is not a new kingdom,” Thorin reminds him, voice carefully devoid of any emotion. “This is a settlement, temporary. It is only carved into the stone for protection.”

“Oh yes, I heard about the slaughter,” Dain comments offhandedly.

“And yet you did not respond to our call for aid,” Dwalin all but hisses, having come into the conversation a bit late. Thorin winces just a bit when he sees that Kíli is with him, arms laden with miscellaneous supplies for their trip, truthfully looking more like a serving boy than the prince he his.

“Did not have the resources to spare, unfortunately,” Dain answers easily, though his gaze has caught on Kíli, who, by all accounts, looks a bit like a deer caught unawares in the forest. “That winter was hard on us all. Really, Thorin; I’d swear he was your son if I didn’t know any better.”

Kíli looks up at him in surprise, and Dwalin takes a step forward to put the lad behind him. Fíli realizes that he’s gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to defend his brother should Dain try once again to convince Thorin to foster him.

“Well,” Dain continues, making a face like he’s been offended. “Won’t you introduce me to your spare?”

Fíli almost pulls sword at that - Kíli isn’t supposed to know, no spare is ever supposed to know of their duties before they come of age - and white-hot anger washes over him.

Thorin is clearly reluctant as he calls Kíli over, the younger tentatively handing his burdens to Dwalin before coming to stand at his side. He looks lost and confused and a tiny bit scared, though he does his best to keep his gaze even on Dain and his face impassive. “He is the second-son of my father’s daughter. This is Kíli, son of Dís.”

Dain doesn’t bother to rise or introduce himself, and a small, twisted smile curls at his mouth. “And how old is the second-son?”

Kíli looks up at his uncle, unsure, but quietly answers. “Thirty-four,” he murmurs. Fíli can see the almost imperceptible shaking in his shoulders. He knows Dain is intimidating his brother - on purpose - just to get a rise out of Thorin. Or Dwalin. Or him. Probably all of them at once.

“Ah, excellent! You must be well into your scholastics. Tell me, in what year did Durin the Deathless take the throne of Erebor?”

Kíli blinks owlishly, clearly caught off guard, and takes a half step closer to their uncle, who settles his hand gently upon his shoulder. “Uhm,” he murmurs.

“Oh, a pity. Perhaps you might know something simpler?” Dain asks, his tone mocking. “Recite your lineage for me, boy.”

“Enough,” Thorin interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. “If you have come here for nothing more than to accost my heirs then you may leave now.”

The dwarf lord’s face twists strangely at the word ‘heirs.’ “I mean no offense,” Dain placates immediately, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Though he is a bit of a runt, as I have heard the people murmur, and it seems that rumor of the bow is true enough. And if they are truly princes, why do you let them dress like commoners?”

For half a second, Fíli is absolutely certain that Dwalin or Thorin or both of them will punch Dain square in the jaw, but a hissed warning from Balin stops them. Kíli’s eyes have sunk down to the floor, and Thorin looks positively murderous, though he squeezes his hand comfortingly on his youngest nephew’s shoulder. For his part, Fíli is gripping his sword with white-knuckles.

“He has fought in battle and saved many lives with that bow,” Thorin growls through his teeth, clearly struggling to keep his temper at bay. “And he is pure-hearted enough to go without food so others do not. What you see in him as weaknesses are his strengths. I will not hear traitorous words in my own halls that suggest otherwise. Now, if you have business with me, speak it, or my guard will have you escorted and banned from these halls.”

Kíli glances up quickly at him to give a small smile of gratitude, but Fíli can tell from the tilt of his shoulders that Dain’s words have accomplished their goal of hurting him. He tries to catch his little brother’s eyes, but isn’t able to, so he sighs and musters up his strongest glare to give to the Lord of the Iron Hills.

“Yes, yes. Of course. We have many things to discuss, but off with these boys for now. Just you and your scholar, for the time being,” he murmurs as he casts a disdainful look at Dwalin. “Be a good lad and take the boys out?”

Fíli is half convinced that they will come back to find Thorin touting Dain’s head on a spit, based on the look on his face when he nods to Dwalin to leave. The warrior himself is spouting profanities non-stop as they head away from the Council Hall.

“Fee, who was that?” Kíli asks as he rushes to keep up with the both of them. He grabs Fíli’s hand and holds it tight, and it only just occurs that Fíli that his little brother must have truly had no idea what was going on.

“Dain,” he grumbles as resentment stirs up within him at the slight the older dwarrow has given his brother. “From the Iron Hills.”

“More like the land of shit and lies,” Dwalin spits angrily. “The nerve of that fool.”

“Oh,” Kíli murmurs softly. “I don’t like him,” he continues a moment later.

“No one does,” Dwalin adds. “Not around these parts anyhow.” He slows his pace a bit to let the boys catch up with him before comfortingly laying his hand on Kíli’s shoulder. “He’s next in line for the throne of Erebor, after you two. And for some reason, he thinks that gives him some right to steal the throne from under your uncle’s nose.”

Kíli frowns, clearly disturbed by this new piece of information. “But he can’t,” he mumbles. “I mean, can he? After everything Uncle has done...no one would really accept it, would they?”

“Probably not,” Dwalin admits. “But I do not know what tactics he might employ to get what he wants.”

“He tried to…” Fíli starts, and then stops. “Never mind,” he grumbles, but Kíli’s interest has already been piqued.

“Tried to what?” he asks, tugging on Fíli’s hand to slow him down. “Fee!”

“He just...he’s tried to arrange it so he could marry into our line a few times, either with himself or his children,” Fíli hastily explains, careful not to give away too much information. “That’s what I’ve heard, anyhow.”

Kíli frowns hard at that. “But why would someone marry another that isn’t their One? They’d be miserable, at least that’s what Mister Balin says.”

Dwalin pats his back lightly. “True, that. Most dwarrow would never agree to such a thing. But, laddie, you’ll soon start to see...that there are some who are more interested in gold and power to care much for the matters of the heart.”

And for Kíli, who wears his heart on his sleeve, and does everything that he can for his family and friends, for those that he loves, that might be the most devastating news of his life.

\-----

Kíli shifts silently through the lower branches of the trees. While he may be mocked for it, his smaller than average size gives him the ability to sneak about, to come up behind prey without being detected. It’s still his first real hunting outing with Dwalin, and he hasn’t even killed anything yet, but he moves like he’s been doing this for years.

He’s a natural, and Dwalin is positive that he has never seen anything quite like it.

He’s watching from outside the clearing, standing still as a stone to keep the buck from noticing his presence. It’s a young one, by the looks of it, but with plenty of meat and muscle on it to feed several families all winter, not to mention the fur, and how the antlers and hooves could be used. He’s not sure if he’s set Kíli up for failure by giving him such a difficult first target, but the opportunity had presented itself, and he truly was confident in Kíli’s abilities, green as he may be.

There’s the barely perceptible sound of a stretch, then the quiet hiss of the arrow, before he hears the solid thunk of the arrowhead lodging itself into the buck’s side.

The animal rears up, panic in it’s features, and this is the part that Dwalin hates. He knows it’s for the good of their people, but that moment, that horrible moment where he can see the animal realize that it’s going to die, always gets him in a way he’d rather not get too far into. Perhaps it’s because he’s seen it too many times in the eyes of a fellow warrior.

The buck sprints away from the clearing with a strained keening noise before disappearing out of sight.

Kíli drops out of the tree with a huff, frown set on his features. “I thought I had it,” he murmurs, clearly disappointed.

“You do,” he replied. “Come on; it’s rare enough to kill with one shot. He’ll run himself out quick enough.” He shows Kíli how to track through the woods, how to look for tiny broken limbs and branches and nearly invisible drops of blood. It doesn’t take them long to find the buck collapsed in the woods, chest heaving in exhaustion and fear.

Kíli looks wholly unsettled as they come upon it, even goes so far as to take a step back from the animal.

“Get your knife, laddie,” he whispers, trying not to frighten the animal either.

Kíli shakes his head and takes another step back.

He realizes then that the sight of the deer struggling for life must be bringing back memories of the battle from years ago. Kíli is taking in deep, heaving breaths and his eyes refuse to stray from the struggling animal. Dwalin curses internally. He’d been so sure that Kíli would be ready, but he hadn’t considered…

“Don’t look,” he says gruffly as he pulls his own knife before crossing to the wounded animal, intending to put it out of it’s misery quick enough so he can tend to the little prince.

Kíli shakes his head and suddenly rushes toward him as he fumbles with his knife. “No,” he murmurs. “No, I can do it. Just...just show me how?” he asks.

“I’ll do this one,” Dwalin compromises. “Watch what I do so you can next time, alright?”

The lad nods, though he still looks monumentally unsure of himself.

“Take a step back,” Dwalin murmurs as he comes to kneel near the creature’s head. Sure enough, the buck jerks his legs wildly in an attempt to get up, and Kíli has to jump to get out of the way. “You have to do this quickly, to ease it’s suffering,” he explains, gesturing with his knife along the neck of the animal. “The slower you go the more pain you’ll cause it.” With a swift motion, he jerks his hand up, slicing easily through the buck’s neck with a slight spray of bright red blood. Kíli lets out a small, choked sound of surprise as the beast jerks once more before falling still.

“Are you alright?” Dwalin asks as he quickly wipes the blood from his knife, hands, and arms and stands to regard Kíli. He doesn’t respond to him, his eyes transfixed on the dead creature. Dwalin reaches for his shoulders and shakes him gently, just once, so that Kíli’s gaze snaps to focus on his face. “Kíli.”

“I’m alright,” he promises, though Dwalin can see the slight tremors in his frame. “I just...it just reminds me of…”

He reaches one hand up to cup the lad’s cheek and pats it fondly. “This is not a meaningless death,” he explains. “This is not you being cruel. It’s not,” he promises when Kíli looks doubtful. “We need the meat to survive. And I’ll tell you, lad, there’s not a piece of this animal that won’t go to use. It’s not the same as...not the same as that.” He wants Kíli to understand, doesn’t want the lad to be haunted by it, even though those dark thoughts have crept into his own mind more often than he’d like to admit. “This is...this is natural.”

“I didn’t think…” Kíli stammers slightly. “I didn’t think it would...live after I shot it, I guess. It’s...I don’t like...I don’t like having to kill it like that.” His eyes drop down to the growing puddle of blood on the ground. “I don’t like it,” he all but whispers.

Dwalin lets his hand drop to his shoulder and squeezes it lightly. “There are few who do,” he confesses. “It is hard to take a life, no matter how necessary it is.” Kíli nods, bites his lip just a bit and Dwalin thinks there may be the sheen of tears clouding his eyes. This was too soon. He shouldn’t have taken Kíli out so soon. He shouldn’t have given him such a large target so soon. Aule, he could be stupid at times. “Do you want to go home now?” he murmurs, defeated.

To his surprise, Kíli shakes his head. He squeezes his eyes closed, visibly swallows, and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes once more they are clear, and he doesn’t look so haunted anymore. “No, I can do this,” he whispers, and Dwalin is pretty sure that he’s still trying to convince himself, but he doesn’t want to discourage the lad, not when he’s making the effort.

They spend the rest of the day stripping the animal. Dwalin shows him how to take the cuts of meat and how to pack it, how to fold the hide so it can be returned to the settlement and tanned, how to preserve the hooves and antlers and other bones that could have various uses. Kíli listens intently, follows his directions to the letter, and by the time the sun is setting the deer is properly stripped and packed and they are settled down to camp for the night.

“You did well today, laddie,” Dwalin comments as Kíli tends to the fire. The lad glances up at him and gives him a tiny smile, but he stays as uncharacteristically quiet as he has been the entire day. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Kíli nods again. “Yea,” he murmurs. “Yea, I’m fine.” He plops down onto his bedroll by Dwalin’s side. “I am!” he insists at Dwalin’s raised eyebrow.

“You’re not,” he murmurs lightly, lifting an arm out to pull Kíli close to his side. It’s a rare form of affection for him, but Kíli has grown on him a lot, particularly in the last few years, and he does have a soft spot in his heart for the lad. Kíli may be young, but he’s already been through so much, and Dwalin, like Fíli and Thorin, are insistent that he doesn’t feel like he has to go through it alone.

Kíli scoots closer and tucks himself against Dwalin’s side. “I’m supposed to be brave,” he whispers. “I’m not...dwarrow aren’t supposed to be scared, not like this.”

“Maybe not,” he replies, voice low and quiet. “But you’ve seen things a little dwarfling isn’t meant to see, laddie, and it’s okay to be scared; it’s okay to not feel alright for a while.”

Kíli sniffles and presses himself even closer to his side. Dwalin responds by squeezing him just a bit tighter. “I just don’t want to be a burden,” he whispers finally. “Uncle and Fee...I don’t want them to have to take care of me all the time.”

“They take care of you because they love you,” he reminds. “I’d daresay you’re the most precious thing on this earth for the both of them.”

Kíli shakes his head. “Maybe for Fee, but not Uncle. Erebor is the most precious thing for him.”

Dwalin is quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the fire in front of them. “You know, laddie,” he murmurs finally. “I’m not so sure that’s true anymore.”

\------

“I believe I’d asked for both of your sister-sons to be present,” Dain asks as soon as they’ve all settled back into the meeting hall. Fíli tries very hard to keep himself from snapping at the elder dwarf, so he digs his fingertips into his palms hard enough that he leaves white crescent moons in their wake. Balin gives him a reassuring smile and a pat on his shoulder, and that eases his ire greatly.

“My youngest is unavailable at present,” Thorin comments, almost offhandedly in an attempt to appear nonchalant. His uncle had been very clear before they’d entered this meeting that Dain was not to know Kíli was out of the settlement. “An extended training session.” He does not elaborate further, but Dain raises a bushy eyebrow.

“I’d heard he was a sickly thing, but -”

“Believe what you will, Dain; I have no time to bicker with you over my nephew’s whereabouts,” Thorin utters, tone indicating that he’s left no room for argument. “Now, you wanted to teach Fíli about the trade routes with the Iron Hills, did you not?”

Dain is scowling slightly, but he nods in agreement. “We shall focus on the routes between the Hills and Ered Luin. I daresay it will be a long time before we have need of the old routes.”

Thorin clenches his jaw, but says nothing.

“Does this mean you’re planning on opening yourself up for trade with us?” Fíli asks, and Thorin barely hides a small smirk of amusement when Dain appears to become flustered.

“I wouldn’t go quite that far, laddie,” he sputters.

“Then why bother having me learn them at all?” Fíli asks, genuinely curious. “It seems to be a bit of a waste to discuss things you have no desire to see to fruition.”  
Thorin and Balin are both fighting down smiles, pleased to see that Fíli was able to see through Dain’s ruse, as well as entertained to see the dwarf lord well and truly flustered.

“I…” he stammers just slightly. “I wanted to test your skills, boy. It has been more than six years since I saw you last. You’ve reached your fortieth by now; you should be well prepared as Thorin’s heir, and I wish to see if you will truly make a grand king one day.”

“But why?” Fíli asks again. “You have no interest in trade with our lands. You have openly mocked my King for this settlement he has created for us here. You have insulted my kin to their faces with no remorse. Your only interest seems to lie in Erebor, which we do not have the means to reclaim at this time, so, forgive me, as I seem to be at a loss for why you have even traveled here, unannounced, to meet with us.”

Thorin gives him a tiny nod that is all warmth and pride. “The lad has a point,” Balin agrees. “And I am sure that if your intentions are to secure one of the lads to foster, our answer will be the same.”

Dain is quiet for a long moment as his gaze shifts between the three of them. “It appears I’ve underestimated your heir, cousin,” he murmurs finally, something akin to pride hidden in his features. “He has much of his mother’s spirit within him.”

Thorin regards him carefully. “Aye, he does,” he finally agrees.

“I do have reason for wanting to test his skills,” the Lord of the Iron Hills continues. “We’ve not seen or heard any news of Smaug in several years.”

Balin furrows his brow in confusion. “We’ve received reports often enough of the dragon terrorizing the lands around the mountain.”

“Fabricated, most of them,” Dain murmurs. “Not by myself, mind you. I grew curious after our last meeting. You’ve been so intent upon reclaiming your homeland, cousin, and I wanted to see if it would ever be possible, should I be able to muster up resources to spare for you.”

“But why?” Fíli asks again, face twisted just so in confusion.

Dain sighs once more. “It is true that I have long had my eye on the throne,” he confirms. “My father taught me from a young age that it was my birthright, that I needed to seize the opportunity and claim the throne for myself.”

“And you no longer feel this way?” Thorin questioned, looking extremely suspicious.

“Truthfully, no,” Dain murmurs. “The throne is cursed. Nothing good has befallen your people since your grandfather’s reign went sour. There is gold-sickness there, and I have no more interest in it for myself.”

Realization crosses Fíli’s features. “But you would benefit greatly if Uncle took the throne once more. Closer trade, more resources, more gold that could be paid to you…”  
“We have fallen on hard times in the Iron Hills,” Dain confirms with a small nod. “There are not enough towns and lands nearby for us to keep ourselves afloat. If Erebor were to be restored to its former glory, then, well...I believe our hardships would come to an end.”

“Is this your true purpose?” Thorin asks, still obviously untrusting of Dain’s intentions, with good reason.

Dain nods. “Aye. I cannot offer your resources, at least not at this time, but I can send you as much information as I can gather. I’ve started regular scouting expeditions to the mountain. My lads have kept a constant vigil on the mountain for the last five years, and not hide nor hair of Smaug has ever been seen.”

“Then who is sending us false information?” Thorin muses. “I want to trust you, cousin; it would do good for both of our lands, but you have deceived my family in the past. How am I to know if what you give me is valid? How am I to know that you aren’t just setting us up for failure and death?”

“The wizard, Gandalf,” Dain murmurs. “I believe you’ve met him before. He has seen as well. I will send for him to visit with you once more. He knows the truth, and he will share it with you.”

Thorin still looks unconvinced. “I will send you a missive once I have spoken with him, then,” he murmurs finally, an expression that Fíli does not recognize flitting across his features.

“There are strange things brewing in these lands,” Dain adds a moment later. “Things that will change the shape of Middle Earth for years to come. I think it best if we are on the same side.”

\------

Dain bids his farewells as soon as their talks are over that day, issuing an apology to Thorin on Kíli’s behalf before he goes. As they watch the dwarf lord’s caravan depart, Fíli chances a glance at his uncle, who looks deeply lost in thought.

“Do you think he’s being truthful?” he asks once their caravan is nothing more than tiny specks on the road leading to the leftover town of Fairfield.

“I cannot yet say,” he replies. “I will speak with the wizard and see what his thoughts are.”

“What kind of strange things was he talking about, anyhow?” Balin muses. “I haven’t heard much news of anything.

“Perhaps we are being fed misinformation,” Thorin grumbles. “It may be time to send our own people out for reconnaissance. I know not who to trust in this.”

“I do not think it wise to risk our own people,” Balin sighs. “If Dain is lying, then we could be walking into a trap. Our numbers are far too few as it is. I do not think we have those to spare.”

“What if we went?” Thorin asks.

Fíli blanches a little bit. “The last time you left…” he starts, a solid lump finding its way into his throat.

“Just wait and see what the wizard says, Thorin,” Balin interrupts. “There’s no need to be hasty.”

Thorin frowns. “I only fear...perhaps I am worried that someone else will set out to steal the throne if we sit idly by.”

“Just give it some time,” Balin repeats.

They fall into companionable silence once more, but the horrid feeling of dread starts to seep back into Fíli’s bones.

A storm is certainly brewing.

He hopes it is one his family can weather through.

\------

It is late by the time they return to Thorin’s Halls, but the marketplace is still bustling with activity. Dwalin claps a warm hand onto Kíli’s shoulder before flashing him a wry smile.  
“Now, this is my favorite part,” he murmurs. “You have the antlers, lad?”

Kíli looks up at him, confusion etched across his features. “Yes?” he replies, curious as to what Dwalin would want those for (they had been horrid enough to remove in the first place), even as he obediently pulls the antlers from his pack.

“They make fine weapon handles,” Dwalin explains as he grabs the antlers. “The bone is easy enough to carve and polish. There are plenty of men and dwarrow alike that will pay a pretty penny for these.”

Kíli wrinkled his nose. “Don’t they know where it came from?”

The warrior barks out an amused laugh. “Probably not, especially if they’re men.” He turns the antlers over in his hands. “What kind of sweets do you and your brother enjoy?”

Kíli perked up a bit at that. “We can have sweets?” he asks, just a tiny bit excited.

“I daresay you’ve earned it after nabbing a buck your first time out,” he affirms. “Besides, we’ll make enough off the antlers and hooves and hide to spare a little luxury. Not to mention how well we’ll eat all the way through the winter.”

Kíli gives him a wide smile, clearly delighted at this little bit of brightness in his otherwise bleak routine, and they head off in search of the appropriate shops. Kíli settles on some baked candied apple rings, his brother’s favorite, and they do fetch a pretty penny for the antlers and the hide of the buck, one that leaves them both with heavier pockets and lighter spirits.

\------

Fíli sighs as he settles into his bed and snuggles up under the furs. Kíli is already sound asleep, but, as is typical, his little brother instantly curls into his embrace and presses close to him with a sleepy grumble. Dwalin had regaled them all with stories of Kíli’s advanced hunting prowess over a dinner of fresh venison. Kíli had flushed under all the attention, insisted that Dwalin had done most of the hard work, but Fíli couldn’t have been prouder of his brother.

He’d overhead Dwalin and Uncle speaking in hushed tones as they stocked the extra meat, had heard Dwalin confess that Kíli had very nearly broken down out in the woods, but that he’d managed to hold it together, that he’d been strong. He had always known that Kíli was brave and strong, albeit less obviously than most of their kin, and it warmed his heart to know that Dwalin and Thorin had seen that strength in him too.

For the first time in nearly a decade, things felt normal. Kíli felt like Kíli. Even Uncle seemed to be more like his old self since Dain’s departure the day before, though the utterings of trouble for all of Middle Earth had unsettled him just a bit. Kíli snuggles ever closer to him, and he adjusts himself so that his brother’s head rests upon his shoulder. With one hand, he idly cards through the boy’s hair, a small, contented smile coming to his lips, grateful for the presence of the warm body by his side.

Ten years ago, he’d taken Kíli well and truly for granted, had thought he’d be better off without his little brother’s affections and adoration.

He had never been happier to be so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to keep going but it was pretty lame and boring and repetitive so I’ll save that for later. Hope you enjoyed it! Kiss kiss love youuu~


	15. Forty-Five and Forty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Ugh I am just glad this one is over. There’s a lot of minor plot development, getting a few key details hashed out and setting some other things into motion, but not a whole lot else. I hate when I write something that feels like straight filler to me, but I hope y’all enjoy it!
> 
> And I have 6 more chapters planned before they leave for the quest, and, depending on everything that I decide to include, 6 more chapters during the quest, and the epilogue. Sooo, essentially we are only at the half way point here, WHOA.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Potty words, anxiety, depiction of major character death in a dream sequence, violence and mild gore in said dream sequence, and I cannot write Gandalf because my words pale in comparison to Sir Ian’s majesty.

 “Are you nervous?” Fíli asks quietly as his fingers comb through his little brother’s hair, pulling out the sections by his ears to braid into the appropriate ceremonial plaits. He already knows the answer to his question, already knows that Kíli will lie and say he’s not, but he’s grown tired of watching the mounting tension in his brother’s form all day, grown tired of the tightness around the lad’s eyes, something that only happens when he is upset or nervous or both.

“No,” Kíli replies quickly (too quickly, Fíli thinks) before fidgeting with his hands once more.

He laughs lightly in an attempt to calm his little brother as he starts to braid the fine brown strands. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he murmurs. “I was petrified for my fortieth.” He had been, truthfully. Thorin had formally presented him as his heir to the entire settlement and had sent word to the other six kingdoms that the Line of Durin lay secure once more. There was a traditional feast, though much more muted that what it would have been in Erebor, and he’d been terrified the entire day that he was going to muck something up, that he was going to bring shame to his family without even meaning to.

Kíli makes a small sound under his breath. “Yours was a big deal; the whole settlement was invited. You’re the heir,” he huffs out. “I’m not…I’m not _important_ like you are.” There’s a certain sadness tingeing his voice that Fíli’s not heard often, and it makes his concern grow tenfold.

He tuts quietly under his breath. “You’re important to _me_ ,” he murmurs, barely resisting the urge to give a quick peck to his brother’s cheek (according to Balin they’re far too old for displays of affection like that anyhow). “And Uncle, and Mister Dwalin, and Mister Balin, and Ori, not to _mention_ Mister Bofur…”

His brother swats at him, nearly causing him to falter in his braiding. “Okay, okay,” he half-grumbles. “I’ve got your point. Finish my braids and make me look proper so we can _go_.”

Kíli’s fortieth was to be a much smaller affair, as he was only announced as the second to family and close, trusted friends, with a missive sent to the other kingdoms that there was a second son. There wasn’t as much pomp and circumstance involved, but Kíli was ever aware of how a lot of people in their felt about him. Already to his fortieth, and he still didn’t have any sign of a beard, just smooth, pale skin. He had grown quite a few inches in the last few years (was almost as tall as Fíli now, the little weed), but he was still slight of build and lithe, not to mention how _some_ people still just could not get over how he used a _bow_ (yet they bought his kills regularly enough).

“You’re his heir too,” he murmurs a moment later, just after he’s finished the first braid and is starting on the second. “If something ever happens to me, then _you’d_ be…”

“Shut up,” Kíli snaps. “Don’t talk about that.”

“You _have_ to know that,” he continues anyway. “I mean, not that it’s _likely_ , but you’re still one of his heirs, and you need to be ready…”

“ _Stop_ , Fee,” Kíli interrupts. “Not now. Not _today_. Please.”

Fíli glances to his brother’s face, sees the sheen of tears that’s already managed to gloss over his eyes, realizes just a _second_ too late that he’s said something he shouldn’t have, that he’s pushed too far. “Oh, Kee,” he whispers, dropping the unfinished braid from his numbed fingertips before pulling him into a tight hug. “Nadadith, I didn’t mean…I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Kíli’s shaking just slightly as he presses his face against his neck. “I know,” he whispers. “I just don’t…I don’t ever want to _think_ about…”

“I know,” he hushes gently. “I know; I’m sorry.” He presses a kiss to his brother’s temple, Balin’s lessons on propriety be damned, silently cursing himself for being so _dense_. He’d not meant to upset him, not _today_ of all days, when he was already under so much pressure and so obviously nervous even though he kept trying to hide it.

“It’s fine,” Kili replies, but his arms tighten around him. “I know…I know about _that_ ,” he murmurs. “Mister Balin makes sure that I do but I just…I couldn’t _live_ without you or Uncle, Fee. I _couldn’t_.”

“Shh, I know,” he whispers as he rocks his brother gently. He’s impressed that Kíli has managed to keep his tears at bay, marveled at how much his little brother has _grown_ in the last decade, without him really noticing. “You’ll never have to, Kee. I promise.” It’s a promise that he doesn’t know he can keep, but he means to, and he’ll do his absolute _best_ to, and that will just have to be enough.

The he remembers that Kíli will soon enough learn that he is a spare, and his heart sinks all over again.

\------

“Relax, Kíli,” Thorin murmurs softly from his right, gently reaching over to grab his hand to stop it from fidgeting with the fur-lined cuffs of the silken overcoat he wears. “You remember your lines, don’t you?”

He nods, resolutely tucking his arms close to his sides, clenching and unclenching his fingers to give him something to do with his hands. He really can’t help how his nerves claw at him, even though he _knows_ that this ceremony is only happening for tradition’s sake. He’s wearing Fíli’s hand-me-down clothes and his presentation in taking place in Bombur’s tavern, for Aulë’s sake, with only his family and friends that are close enough that they may as well _be_ family, but still…

“This is but a small affair,” Thorin reminds, just as he places a warm hand on his shoulder to squeeze him tightly. “You’ve nothing to be nervous for.”

“I know,” he half-whispers. “I just…I just want you to be proud of me,” he says, shoulders slumping as he sighs, sounding almost defeated. “I just…Fíli is always so _good_ at the things you as him to do, and he’s so smart and brave and strong and I’m…I’m…”

 _I’m not like him_ , goes unspoken, but Thorin hears it nonetheless.

“I…” Kíli continues, sounding more like a lost child than he’d like to, “I do my best to ignore it, Uncle, as you’ve said to, but I still…I still hear what people say about me…that I’m just a blemish on Durin’s line, that you’re fortunate…that you’re fortunate to have Fíli because it’d be such a waste if you were stuck with just me…”

Thorin sighs, bringing his hand up to rest at the back of Kíli’s neck and pressing their forehead’s together, squeezing ever so softly in reassurance. “Kíli,” he speaks gently, well aware of how tightly strung the lad’s nerves are at the moment. “I would be _happy_ to be ‘stuck’ with just you,” he comforts, voice ringing with sincerity. “There is no one with a bigger heart, no one more loyal, no one I would rather have as my kin. Know this, Kíli, and fret not about it.”

His uncle’s words pull a small smile from him, one that is easily returned with another small squeeze to the back of his neck. It is enough to calm him down significantly, though he is still full of doubt. He knows he’s not what the dwarrow expect nor what they want from their _prince_ , from someone who could one day be their _King_ (however small that possibility may be), but he knows he can only ever be himself, and tries to focus on that.

“Better?” Thorin asks a moment later, and he gives him a small nod in reply.

“Yes, Uncle,” he murmurs, mustering up a less genuine smile than before. “Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

Thorin chuckles beside him. “Yes, of course. I’m sure Bombur is anxious enough to get to the feasting portion of the evening.” He looks the lad over one more time, smoothes the already unraveling braids back into their place, before returning to stand at his side, a warm arm slung about his shoulders. “Fret not, Kíli. You make me proud enough just by standing at my side,” he murmurs, just as he steps forward to push the doors to the tavern open.

Balin is already standing at the front of the dining hall, the scroll containing the oath Kíli must make to his King and sign splayed out on a table before him, and Fíli and Dwalin seated calmly to his right. He catches sight of familiar faces, of Ori and his brother Dori, Bofur, Bombur, Bifur, Oin and Gloin, and, unsurprisingly, a few of Dain’s men, who he recognizes from the sigil emblazing the sleeves of their tunic and nothing else. It seems that Thorin had spoken true enough, that there were just a handful of those whom he trusted to know Kíli was named as his second.

It had been a surprise to him to learn that, on occasion, second sons were deemed unfit for rule, and were never named heirs. A small, nagging thought in his mind kept telling him that Thorin was keeping him a secret because he was ashamed of him, because he doesn’t want the other realms to know that he has an heir so _weak_ , but he _knows_ , really, truly knows that isn’t the case. Thorin keeps him secret to keep him safe, to keep their enemies from knowing his face and his name should they decide to turn on Thorin and do harm to the line of Durin.

Thorin stops them just before the table with the scroll and lets his arm slide free from Kíli’s shoulders as he moves to stand beside his longtime friend. He starts to panic just the tiniest bit once he is left on his own, but wills himself to remember that he is among _friends_ , that he is _safe_.

“We are here today to honor Kíli, son of Dís, daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, as he celebrates his Fortieth Name Day,” Balin announces in a clear voice. Kíli starts a little at the use of his full title, as he’s heard it used for Fíli and Thorin many times, but never on himself. “It is the wish of Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain, that Kíli be named as his second successor to the throne of Erebor,” his tutor continues, with an expectant nod in his direction.

For a split second, he blanks on what he is supposed to say. Balin had spent days drilling the oath of allegiance into his mind for weeks on end, and it was written on the scroll that lay just before him on the table, but it would not do to dishonor Thorin so, to shame _himself_ so, and he doesn’t dare glance down. He starts to feel a tiny prickle of panic well up within him as he struggles to remember the right words, when he looks up and catches Fíli’s gaze, sees him smile softly and nod in encouragement, and suddenly everything clicks.

“I hereby declare, on oath, that I absolutely and entirely renounce all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince or sovereign other than my King, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain,” he says, his voice tremulous as it breaks over the word _king_. He shifts his gaze to his uncle, can see the warm smile in his eyes though his face remains impassive, and it gives him strength. “I hereby declare, on oath, that I will defend Erebor, the Kingdom Under the Mountain, its laws, and its sovereigns, against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I will bear arms on behalf of Erebor when called. I hereby declare, on oath,” he continues, voice strong now, though his hands have begun to shake just so, “that I take this obligation freely and without reservation or coercion, so help me Aulë.”

Thorin’s lips crack into the tiniest of smiles, one that is all pride and warmth and affection. “And I shall have it,” he accepts quietly, gesturing to where Kíli must sign his name to his oath on the parchment before him. His hands are still shaking terribly so, but he manages to sign his name (though with much less flourish than Thorin and Balin’s have) without spilling the inkwell or smudging anything overly important. Once he finished, he stands to regard his uncle once more, shoulders square and straight.

“Kíli,” Thorin addresses, his voice holding all of the authority of the king Kíli often forgets he is. “You are the second son of my father’s daughter. I name you as my second successor, in that, should I fall, and should my heir, Fíli, son of Dís, fall,” his voice breaks just the slightest bit, “the burden of the throne of Erebor will fall to you.”

Dark, dangerous thoughts well up in Kíli’s mind, graphic images of his uncle and brother maimed or dead or both, images that his traitorous dreams have shown him over and over again. He swallows thickly, closes his eyes tight to will them away, before taking in a deep breath and releasing it through his nose, determined not to show the level of distress he feels.

“Will you accept this burden?” Thorin asks once he’s managed to calm himself.

There is a beat of silence, one where Kíli desperately seeks out the eyes of his older brother, but is dismayed to find Fíli’s eyes fixed on the floor. “I do,” he answers finally, gaze locked back on Thorin.

“Very well then,” Balin cuts in, smiling just a bit as he does. “That about settles it. Lads, I present to you, Kíli, son of Dís, second prince to the King Under the Mountain.”

There is a small smattering of applause for naught but a second until Bombur and Bofur burst into uproarious cheers, ones that make Kíli’s cheeks go a little pink at the attention as he ducks his head away from them.

Thorin comes back around to his side of the table, to grasp his forearm in the traditional handshake to show that an agreement has been reached between the two of them, but he’s only held onto Kíli’s arm for a second before he is pulling him into a warm hug. He doesn’t hesitate for a second to wind his arms around his uncle’s sturdy form, or to press his face against his neck as soon as Thorin’s hand reaches up to grasp the back of his head and hold him tighter.

“I am so proud of you, Kíli,” he murmurs as he presses a ghost of a kiss to the lad’s temple. “Thank you, dear heart. For all you have done and will do for me.”

He’s stunned into silence from Thorin’s display of affection and admission of his emotions, so he settles on a swift nod and hopes that his uncle is able to understand. When they pull apart, he could almost swear he sees tears pooling at the corners of his uncle’s eyes, but he turns his face away from him so quickly that he cannot be sure. He looks to Fíli again, but his brother is once again avoiding his gaze.

And while he celebrates the rest of the evening with fine food and better company, he can’t help the nagging feeling that something is _different_ now, that something has changed, and he knows it doesn’t have a _thing_ to do with his rapidly approaching adulthood.

\------

The morning following Kíli’s fortieth name day banquet is a lazy affair. The small family spends the majority of their time cooped up in their sitting room around a roaring fire. While the mountain kept them well protected from the weather outside, the bitter midwinter chill had still managed to seep deep inside.

Fíli diligently reads through some history texts Balin had left with him the week prior, insisting that he familiarize himself with the information contained within the tomes. Kíli sits close to the fire, shaving down some tree branches he’d collected before the frost into straight, solid shafts for his arrows, balancing their weight precisely with a practiced hand. The stone arrowheads Bofur had given him a number of years before, all but forgotten since the orc raid, sit beside him, ready to be attached to the bolts with thin leather string he’d made over the summer.

Thorin watches them for a moment, allows himself a small smile and a brief respite from the missive he is presently drafting to send to the other kingdoms, one that announces his second, but does not identify him by name or lineage, as a small measure of protection to Durin’s line. He is content, he _is_ , but there is something that he can’t fully identify that weighs heavy on his heart.

Dís and Tíli would be so proud of their boys.

He sees so much of the two of them in those boys. Fíli is the perfect blend of the pair, with his mother’s eyes and smile, right down to the fine lines that form around them when he laughs, and his father’s golden blond hair and strong nose. Though many feel that Kíli has grown to strongly resemble Thorin, (and he has, with his coloring and the curve of his nose and the set of his brow), in his eyes, he sees his mischievous little brother, right down to the subtle quirk of his lips when he finds something interesting. He has his father’s eyes, though, the depthless brown that had actually grown somewhat uncommon for the dwarrow of Erebor, as well as his wide, warm smile.

Looking at the lads draws his thoughts to his departed kin more often than he’d like to admit. He can’t help but wonder what things would be like if the dragon had never come to the mountain. Tíli had been Dís’s One, he would have found his way to the mountain in some way or another, and he could still have had his boys…he likes to think he could still have had _everything_ , if it hadn’t been for that blasted worm.

He takes a steadying breath, to steer him away from the growing anger he feels. He doesn’t want to taint his memories of them with any more anger than he already holds.

He wonders how they would have acted at a ceremony such as this, wonders if Dís would have struggled to keep a neutral face or if she would have let the happy tears slip freely from her eyes. The can picture the warm, proud grin ( _Kíli’s_ grin) that would have split Tíli’s face wide, can see the ghost of his hand clapped on his eldest son’s shoulder as they watched on.

Aulë, he thinks for the millionth time in the last forty years, how he would have love for them to be here still.

Kíli must have picked up on his souring, somber mood, for he silently scoots backward to rest his back against Thorin’s legs, tossing a soft smile up at him as he does. With a gentle smile of his own, he reaches down to card through Kíli’s hair for just a moment, just long enough to calm himself, in the barest gesture of thanks before they both return to their tasks, and Thorin forces himself to turn his mind to lighter thoughts.

They’re relaxed; it’s quiet, comfortable, and cozy, but such luxuries can never last for long.

There’s a sharp knock at the door and Fíli all too eagerly slams the text shut, practically jumping from his chair to see who has arrived, especially since they weren’t expecting any visitors, and Kíli lets out a small snort of amusement. He yanks the sturdy door to their halls open wide, smile coming to his face as he reveals Ori. The lad has only recently started his apprenticeship as a scribe, who, truthfully, spends more time acting a messenger boy than a historian in training.

“I’ve got a summons for Mister Thorin,” he announces breathlessly. “From Mister Balin. He says it’s urgent.”

Thorin frowns as he rises from his chair, mindful of how Kíli is pressed against him, even as the lad grumbles his displeasure at being disturbed. “Did he say what it was about?” he murmurs as he reaches for his overcoat.

Ori shakes his head. “No, but…I did see some sort of tall folk being led in earlier this morning.”

\------

“Gandalf,” Thorin greets with a small incline of his head. He nods to Balin as well as he makes himself at home in his cousin’s study. Idly, he wonders where Dwalin has gotten off to, as he would have expected him to sit in on such a meeting. “You must have pressing news to have travelled this far in midwinter.”

The wizard just gives him a wry smile from where he is settled in a too-small armchair, knees practically pressing against his chest in an effort to fit. “Truthfully, master dwarf, I was merely passing through these lands,” he admits, a small chuckle passing his lips at their bewildered expressions. “Though I do have some news for you. Dain spoke the truth. You are being deceived.”

He utters a curse under his breath. “How do you know this?”

“I have traveled to the Desolation of Smaug myself, spoke with those in Lake Town; they have seen no sign of the dragon, though they are far to wary to venture anywhere near the mountain,” he explains. “They’ve not seen hide nor hair of the beast in nearly thirty years.”

Balin frowns. “And you trust them to be honest with this?”

A mild expression of shock comes across Gandalf’s features. “What reasons have they to be dishonest?”

“Lake Town is the closest any have ventured to the mountain since Smaug’s reign began,” Thorin grumbles. “They would be the first to enter the mountain if the beast were gone, would be the first to attempt to seize the riches of Erebor.”

“And from the state of their affairs it is evident that they have not,” Gandalf finishes for him, slightly exasperated and the rightful king’s unwillingness to hear him out. “Thorin, I know you have distrust for those who are not of your own kind,” he murmurs, “even old wizards who intend to help you regain what you have lost.”

“I do not distrust you,” he murmurs quietly. “I distrust those who wronged my father and my grandfather. I distrust those who sat back and did nothing while my people burned. I distrust those who have let the dwarrow of Erebor fall into this state – scattered, sickly, broken, and poor, motherless children weighed down by grief – I distrust those who looked on and did _nothing_ , through all corners of this earth. No good deed among men or elf or wizard will ever change that.”

Balin nods in agreement as they fall into a tense silence.

Gandalf seems to chew on the inside of his cheek for a moment before he speaks again. “Your stubbornness may one day be your downfall, Thorin Oakenshield. You mustn’t forget that yours were not the only people Smaug took from that day. You have could have many allies, as there are many who wish to see the beast felled as you do. This does not need to be your burden; you not need to bear this weight on your own.”

Thorin shakes his head. “It is my _birthright_ , Gandalf. This is my quest, mine alone, and I will not share its spoils with those who looked upon our devastation and did nothing.”

He sees the frustration in the wizard’s eyes, but the old man does not push it farther, and they switch to more bearable topics for the time being.

\------

He is _freezing_. Dwalin is working him to the bone, outside in the frigid air. Sweat is pouring off of him in waves, freezing against his skin, and every drop feels like icy fingers poking at him. His hands are numb with cold and barely able to hold on to his sword. They’ve been at this for _hours_ , despite Dwalin’s general dislike for the cold, and his weapons master shows no intent to ease up on him at all.

“Again,” he barks, settling back down into his ready stance, before lunging at an ill-prepared Kíli and practically throwing him to the ground. “Come on, lad; get up!”

He heaves a heavy breath as he struggles to get back to his feet. “M’tired,” he explains as he pulls himself back into a ready stance, narrowly dodging Dwalin’s next blow.

“You’ll have to learn to fight tired, lad,” Dwalin explains as he makes another lunge toward him. His footing slips again and the warrior manages to clip his legs with his wooden sword and sends him careening face-first into the ground. “Up; again!”

Kíli just manages to roll over onto his back, sucking in great heaving breaths of air. “Need a break,” he mumbles.

Dwalin finally takes pity on him, and drops his practice sword to the ground. “If you’re in a battle there won’t _be_ any breaks.”

“I know,” Kíli snaps back, feeling his anger grow. He’s _fought_ in battle; he _knows_.

“And if you can’t keep up, you might leave your brother’s back undefended,” Dwalin continues, heedless of the lad’s mounting ire. “And then where does that leave ‘im?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Kíli nearly snarls.

He knows Dwalin is touching that nerve on him _on purpose_ to get a rise out of him. He manages to get to his feet, but his hands feel too numb and cold to grasp his sword. It’s Dwalin who lunges at him first, grabbing him around his middle and easily wrestling him to the ground. Kíli manages to use his smaller size and speed to his advantage and slips out from under him, deftly rolling to grab his sword and spring back to his feet, breath coming out in heavy pants that freeze in the air before his face. With a twirl that lacks any real flourish, he has his practice sword at Dwalin’s throat.

“Yield,” he demands, voice shaking with exhaustion and a little elation, because he’s never managed to beat Dwalin in a sparring match before.

Dwalin gives him a look, and there’s… _something_ swirling in his grey eyes that Kíli can’t quite identify. “I yield.”

Kíli throws his sword off to the side, extends a hand down to help Dwalin back to his feet…

…and is promptly flung onto his back and pinned down by the hulking warrior

“Hey!” he shouts, clearly affronted. “That’s not fair!”

Dwalin chuckles lightly, but gets off him and offers him a hand to help him stand, but Kíli just bats it away and gets up on his own.

“You’re enemies won’t fight fair,” Dwalin grumbles. “When you’re in a battle, a _real_ battle, lad, one that your life depends on…”

“I’ve _been_ in a real battle!” Kíli snaps again.

“Yea, you’ve been in one shit-scared and you’d have gotten yourself killed in a heartbeat if there hadn’t been anyone looking out for you!” Dwalin nearly roars in response.

Kíli shrinks back a bit and falls silent; he knows Dwalin is right.

“The battles that you face now…there won’t be anyone looking after _you_ ,” he continues. “ _You_ have to look out for Fíli and your Uncle. _You_ have to protect them, whether you’re tired or scared or cold or on deaths door yourself. It’s your _job_. It’s your _duty_.”

He feels the rest of his anger drain out of him. He _knows_. He knows, he knows, he knows. His duties aren’t like Fíli’s; he’s not tasked with learning the history of Erebor, with learning proper diplomacy and etiquette. He’s been tasked with learning military strategy, with learning how to _fight_ and protect his people, starting with his brother and uncle.

“I…I know,” he murmurs finally, shivering from the cold now that his anger has seeped out of him. “I’ll be stronger next time, Mister Dwalin,” he promises.

Dwalin suddenly looks older than he’s ever seen. There’s tightness in the skin around his eyes and he almost looks afraid, but Kíli can’t imagine why he would. “Come on, lad,” he murmurs softly. “Let’s get you inside and warmed up. Your uncle will skin me alive if I let you catch your death out here.”

Kíli follows obediently behind him, and they walk in silence before they slip back into Thorin’s Halls. Even though it’s only been a week since his fortieth, Kíli can’t shake the feeling that everything is suddenly changing and spirally out of control. Thorin’s meetings with the wizard, and the growing frustration he can see in the man who has raised him as a father would, Fíli’s avoidance of his gaze, and the way his brother seems to stare at him when he thinks he can’t see, and now Dwalin…

Things are definitely changing, he realizes, and he’s not entirely sure it’s all for the better.

\------

_He’s gasping for air, but every breath he takes in is full of ash and soot and just feels beyond suffocating, like he’d be better off just not breathing at all. There’s a horrible, terrible pain in his leg, and he hears lots of shouts, and the clash of metal upon metal. With a strangled, pained gasp, he manages to push himself up, sees his sword not a foot away from himself and grabs at it. It takes great effort, but he manages to pull himself to his knees at least to get a look at what is happening around him. The battle seems mostly finished, and it looks like they’ve won, by the sheer number of orc carcasses that little the ground._

_‘Good,’ he thinks, knowing that he needs to get the wound in his leg looked at and treated as soon as possible._

_“Move, Fee!” comes Kíli’s panicked scream from his right. His brother sounds terrified, more scared than he’s ever heard him, and he sluggishly turns his head to see him racing toward him, sword drawn, and eyes focused on something just behind his own head. He tries to follow the action as Kíli hurtles over top of him, body solidly impacting with that of a rather large orc who’d been just seconds from removing Fíli’s head from his neck._

_How had he not even noticed? He tries to get his brain to keep up with what is happening as Kíli grapples the larger form to the ground, lithe body overtop of the beast and pinning him down as he reaches down for his dagger. And then there’s a terrible, horrible scream, and he sees a jagged blade protruding from Kíli’s back. With a self-satisfied grunt, the orc pushes Kíli’s now limp form off of himself, pausing only to retrieve his sword from the fallen dwarf’s chest before sauntering back over to Fíli._

_His mind finally catches up. With a snap, he realizes what has happened, what he has_ let _happen._

_“Kíli,” he mumbles out, feeling numb and horrified by his brother’s still form. “Kee!” he screams out._

_The orc spits something at him in the Black Speech, a wicked grin splitting his mouth as he lines his sword up at his throat._

_He needs to_ move _, he has to_ move _, Kíli is dead because he tried to defend him and he can’t even_ move _to save his own hide, and Kíli is dead, dead, dead, his sweet, precious baby brother is dead because of_ him _…_

He wakes with a strangled scream that has Kíli practically falling out of his own bed in his haste to get to him. Fíli can hear himself taking in great, gasping breaths of air, and feels himself flinch away from Kíli’s touch once his brother finally reaches him.

“Fee, hey,” Kíli calls, hands held uselessly in the air in front of him, not wanting to touch his brother if it only serves to upset him further. “Fíli, nadad, it’s alright,” he soothes, heart clenching as his brother curls up into ball at the head of his bed, his knees hugged tight to his chest as he tries desperately to calm his breathing. “It was just a dream, Fíli,” he soothes again. “You’re alright; you’re safe.”

When his brother speaks, it sounds small and scared and desperate. “Are _you_?”

Kíli blinks owlishly at him. “Am I? Of…of course I am,” he whispers as he sits gingerly on Fíli’s bed, laying a tentative hand on his brother’s shoulder, the pressure in his chest lessening just a little when he doesn’t pull away. “Don’t talk crazy. I’m right here. I’m fine.”

Kíli just sits with him quietly for a while, waits for Fíli’s breathing to slow, waits for him to _talk_ , because he doesn’t want to press too much, but Fíli never has nightmares, and if he’s honest with himself, it startles him down to his core.

“Come here,” Fíli murmurs after he’s considerably calmer, one arm extended to pull Kíli close to his side. Kíli follows without any hesitation, curls close to his brother and grasps his free hand for good measure. Fíli breathes out a heavy sigh before pressing a kiss into his dark, unruly hair, “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“It’s okay,” Kíli answers easily, but he can’t help the small tremble in his voice, and that makes Fíli squeeze him just a bit tighter.

“Remember…remember when you said you couldn’t live without me and Uncle?” he whispers, voice small and close to Kíli’s ear. “Well I couldn’t…I couldn’t live without the two of you either. Especially you, nadadith.”

Tightness lodges itself in his throat at Fíli’s admission, and he’s able to guess what his brother’s night terror must have been about. “You’ll never have to, Fee,” he whispers back, echoing his brother’s words from a few days before. “I promise.”

\------

“Are you positive?” Thorin asks, fixing his guest with an intense gaze, trying to gauge whether or not he should trust him in this. Nori may be a thief, but he has always been an honorable one, and he has always been loyal to his own kin. Though he’s not yet reached his majority, is still but a child, truthfully, and may still be prone to childish mistakes.

Nori had only just returned a few days prior. He had been spending time in Gondamon, desperate to escape Dori’s constant mothering and to make a bit of coin for himself. When he’d returned, he’d come straight to Thorin, had all but demanded an audience with him despite the lateness of the hour.

“Absolutely,” the red haired lad confirms. “I saw the missives myself. They thought I wanted in. Apparently, drafting fake stories about dragons pays pretty well.”

Thorin frowns. “Did they say who was behind it?”

Nori shakes his head. “No, they were very tight-lipped about that. I was with them for weeks, running errands, not writing the missives, mind you, and no one said a word. Got the impression that it was a man, though.”

“Why is that?” he asks, a little impressed by Nori’s skills of deduction, though he does well to hide it.

“The gold they paid us in, it was sent to us in wallets. Man-sized wallets, which I thought a bit strange, since we were all dwarrow,” he explains. “But whoever it was, wanted them to be in Khuzdul, wanted them to look authentic.”

“And these dwarrow that you were working with?” he continues. “Did they seem to harbor any…ill will toward Erebor?”

Nori shook his head. “These missives aren’t going to just you. Seems like all of the dwarf kingdoms, save for the Iron Hills were getting them.”

A crease pinches across Thorin’s brow. “Why not the Iron Hills?”

Nori shrugs. “No one ever really said. Mostly I think it was because no one wants to travel that close to the mountain, but it could mean…”

“It could mean that Dain has been playing us all along,” Balin mutters grimly, confirming Thorin’s worst fear.

“Go back to work for them again,” Thorin demands. “After the thaw. See if you can forge any new friendships, but do not mention my name, or that you come from these halls.”

“Absolutely,” Nori agrees, nodding curtly toward him. “But if I may ask for a small thing in return?”

“We will have you paid fittingly upon your return,” Balin promises, and Thorin nods in agreement.

Nori chuckles just slightly. “No…my loyalty cannot be bought through coin,” he admits. “I would have you…my brother is struggling to keep us fed, as many of us are…it’s part of why I left, to give him one less mouth to feed. I would have you…I would ask you to keep them fed,” he admits quietly. “Especially Ori.”

Thorin nods in agreement. “I will see it done. Fret not for your kin,” he murmurs. Nori bows his thanks before excusing himself from the study, leaving just Thorin and Balin behind.

“I think it is time we sent our own men to investigate what is truly happening,” Thorin says, frown tight across his features. “We’ve gotten…we’ve gotten too many conflicting reports. I need to see with my own eyes, or with eyes that I can implicitly _trust_ , before we are able to move forward.”

Much to his surprise, Balin nods in agreement. Truthfully, he had been expecting more of a fight. “We’ll prepare an envoy to leave in the spring,” he declares. “Though I will ask that you stay behind. We will send Dwalin and some of his men. Our people need you here, they need to _see_ you, at least for now, until we are on stable footing once more.”

Thorin sighs, clearly displeased by this news, but nods in agreement nonetheless.

“When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end,” he recites quietly. “Let us hope that his reign is over soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Nadad = brother, nadadith = brother that is young. The oath Kíli takes is shamelessly based on the Oath of Allegiance that they make people seeking citizenship to the United States take once they are naturalized.


	16. Fifty-Three and Forty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Hooray! An update in a timely fashion! But don’t anticipate this for the next chapter because I am fully expecting to be emotionally destroyed by DoS for at least a week (especially if this Kiliel madness is as bad as it seems UGH i'm gonna cringe. i was all for a badass lady elf but forcing a romantic subplot is just gonna be...UGH. plus i have never been the biggest evangeline fan).
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Potty words, broken bones, anxiety, depiction of major character death in a dream sequence, violence and mild gore in said dream sequence, and I did not really proofread or have this one beta’d so all mistakes are my own.

He sighs as he enters the settlement, hoisting his pack further up onto his shoulder. It’d been an abysmal few days of hunting. It had rained nearly the entire time, drenching him and Dwalin to the bone, and they’d not gotten more than a dozen rabbits between the two of them, hardly enough to keep their own families fed, let alone to sell.

“We should still be able to fetch some coin for the pelts, laddie,” Dwalin murmurs gruffly, seemingly reading his thoughts. “Though I guess we’ll be getting by for a few weeks on greens and rabbit stew.”

“There should have been some bucks around,” he complains, not for the first time during this trip. “Do you think something other than the rains ran them off?”

Dwalin just shrugs as they make their way to the marketplace to unload the pelts. “Hard to say,” he admits. “But the rain will bring lots of grass, so they’ll come back round soon enough.”

Kíli sighs and nods, knowing that he is most likely correct. In the few years that they’d become hunting partners, they’d managed to map out most of the forests between their settlement and the ruined town of Fairfield, and had determined the migration patterns of most of their game. Rabbits were easy to find year-round. Most of the deer hid away for the winter, but there were tons of them in the spring and after the summer rains. Bears could be found in the fall, but they’d yet to try and bring one of those down. They’d also enlisted the help of Oin and researched edible herbs and plants, as well as those that could be used for medicinal purposes. They kept most of those to themselves, though he did give the medicinal ones to Oin often enough. They won’t have much to sell today, but every bit helps.

They’ve not made it two steps into the marketplace before Ori is upon them, looking concerned and disheveled in a way that make Kíli’s heart drop.

“ _There_ you two are,” he huffs out. “Thank goodness you’re back. Kíli...something...something’s happened. Come with me.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, frozen in place. “Ori, what’s happened?”

Ori looks concerned, lets his gaze shift between the two of them. “It just happened this morning,” he explains. “It’s...it’s Fíli. He broke his leg sparring, and Oin thinks it’s pretty bad…”

His pack falls from numbed fingertips and his mind refuses to process the rest of Ori’s message. _It’s Fíli_. _Fíli’s hurt. Fíli never gets hurt, never gets sick…_

“Is Thorin back?” he hears Dwalin ask as the warrior reaches down to grab his pack before shoving him none-too-lightly in the shoulder to get him to _move_. Thorin had left a few weeks prior, on a short trip to Gondamon, and was due back any day.

“No, he isn’t. We sent word to him, though,” Ori explains as the pair follows behind him.

It is a short walk to the Houses of Healing, but Kili’s heart is in his throat the entire time. He’s mentally cursing himself for leaving Fíli alone, even if it was just for two days. His brother had insisted that he and Dwalin not reschedule their outing, insisted that they would all do well with some fresh meat in their bodies, but he shouldn’t have listened, he should have _stayed_ because Fíli is _hurt_ and he wasn’t there for him. They reach the Houses of Healing in no time at all, and Ori leads them into a room in the back, before pushing the door open and letting them inside.

“Fee,” Kíli breathes out as he pushes his way through the small group of healers to be at his brother’s side. Fíli’s face is positively ashen, covered in sweat with his hair askew. He only hesitates for a second before he’s reaching for him, pushing some of the mussed hair out of his face and stroking his cheek gently, alarmed at how clammy his skin feels. “Fíli, hey,” he murmurs when his brother flinches just slightly from the contact. “It’s me.”

“Kee,” he rasps out, voice hoarse with pain. One hand clumsily reaches up for his brother, and Kíli immediately grabs it, squeezes it tight before laying their interlocking hands on his chest. “M’sorry…” he grumbles out. “Stupid...lost my...footing.”

“Shh,” Kíli soothes, using his free hand to get the rest of Fíli’s hair out of his face. “You being clumsy like me? I’ll tease you about it later, yea?”

Fíli chuckles then, before it’s cut off by a rough gasp.

“It’s good that you two are here,” Oin says as he returns to Fíli’s bedside. “I need to set the leg. The break is...well, it’s all the way through the bone, but not terribly bad, as I had feared. Should heal fine, though…” he hesitates for a second as he makes eye contact with Kíli’s worried gaze. “It’ll be a painful one. Legs always are.” He sets the supplies he’d gathered for resetting the leg down onto the bed. “I’ll need you to hold him down,” he says, gesturing to a few of the healers and Dwalin. “Kíli,” he calls, hands a thick swatch of leather to him, “Have him bite on this. You keep him calm, all right? Talk to him.”

He has to take in a few deep breaths to steady himself before he returns his attentions to Fíli once more. “Here, nadad, bite on this,” he says as he places the strap of leather into his mouth. “Don’t you worry, Mister Oin’ll have you fixed up in no time, you’ll see.” Fíli gasps and tries to pull away when Dwalin and the healers move to hold him down, so Kíli leans closer, presses their heads together, and squeezes their hands tight. “Remember when we were little?” he asks, trying desperately to find a way to distract his brother, mindful of the way his voice is shaking. “In the fall, when the leaves would change color and drop away, and we used to get them in big piles and jump in them? There was one day when you covered us up in all of them, and we waited until Uncle Thorin came by.” Despite Fíli’s obvious pain, he lets out a small huff of a laugh at the memory. “And remember when we jumped out at him?” he asks. “I thought he was going to skin us alive for that, but he just -”

He’s cut off from his story when Fíli _screams_ in pain as Oin resets the leg. It is a small wonder that they’re able to keep him still with as much as he starts to trash about. He’s screaming through the strap, breath coming in harsh, struggled gasps.

“Shh,” Kíli murmurs, keeping their foreheads together as best he can. “It’s alright, Fíli. It’s okay. I know it hurts but it’s just for now; it will get better.” His voice cracks just the smallest bit when he notices the tears pooling in the corner of Fíli’s eyes. He lifts his free hand, dismayed to find it shaking, and cups his brother’s cheek to wipe them away. “It’s okay, Fee,” he murmurs again, but now his voice sounds scared and lost, and he hates that he sounds so _weak_ because he wants to be strong, _needs_ to be strong for Fíli. “It’s okay; it only hurts for a little while. I promise.”

“Kíli,” his brother chokes his name out in a half-sob, half-groan of pain, before he abruptly jerks just slightly before falling slack. Oin and his healers keep working diligently, bandaging and splinting his leg, while Kíli desperately tries to calm his breathing.

“Did you happen to get anymore valerian while you were out, laddie?” Oin asks a moment later. “I’m running low, and he’ll need it.”

“Aye, we did,” he answers as he reluctantly pulls away from his brother to dig through his pack and produce the roots. “Where do you want them?”

Oin chances a glance up at him from where he works. “Over there, on the table. Start grinding them down, if you will.” Kíli nods and does as he’s told, easily locating the mortar and pestle and setting to work. He always better off when he has something to distract himself from his troubles, and even though he can’t stop the shaking in his hands, can’t help but glance at his brother’s prone form every thirty seconds, it calms to him have something _useful_ to do.

He’s got three of the roots ground down before Oin comes to join him at the table, taking some of the ground valerian and mixing it with some other herbs into sachets. “He’s going to be fine, laddie. Not to worry,” Oin reassures as he works. “Legs take a long time to heal and they’re…well, with your brother I’ll expect it’ll be difficult as it’ll be some weeks before he’ll be able to walk on it.” The healer chuckles just a bit. “Might have to tie him down to keep him off his feet for so long.”

Kíli gives him a small, fake smile. “Thank you, Mister Oin,” he murmurs. “Uncle and I will take good care of him; I promise.”

Oin gives him a wide grin. “Oh, of that I have no doubts,” he says with a light chuckle. He finishes tying off the last sachet, setting it off to the side for later use before clapping a hand on his shoulder. He draws his hand back suddenly, alarmed, before laying the back of his hand against his forehead. “You’re _freezing_ , laddie,” he comments, giving him another look over. “And completely soaked through! Bless me, we need to get you changed and warmed up before you catch cold in here.”

Kíli blinks at him, confused for a moment. He doesn’t _feel_ cold, not in the slightest, but his hand had been shaking a lot, and he knew he was still soaked for their hunting outing in the woods.

“Come on, lad,” Dwalin calls from behind him, settling a hand on his shoulder to pull him from the room. “Let’s get us both cleaned up and warm.”

Kíli shakes his head, brow furrowed in confusion. “But,” he starts, but Dwalin cuts him off with a stern shake of his head.

“I know you don’t feel it, lad, you’ve got too much adrenaline from seeing ‘im hurt,” Dwalin explains as he pulls him from the room, Kíli casting one last forlorn look at his unconscious brother as they go. “If you’re half as cold as I am, and I know you are, you’ll be needing a warm wash and a fresh change of clothes before you get back in there.”

Dwalin must be right, for as Kíli follows numbly behind him, he feels the chill start to seep into his bones, and by the time they’ve reached the doors their apartments he’s barely able to stay on his feet. Dwalin follows him in, helps him fill the bath with warm water and pulls out something dry for him to wear.

“Get yourself washed up and then you can go back, alright?” he instructs, and Kíli nods. “I’ll take care of the rabbits and such; don’t you worry about that. I’ll come and check on you later.” He gives him a warm pat on the cheek and a small, fond smile before he sees himself out.

Kíli strips silently, depositing his wet clothes by the side of the washbasin before sinking into the water himself. He welcomes the feel of the water against his skin, but it seems to unlock something within him, as his chest starts to feel tight and it becomes harder to breathe.  Fili is _hurt_ ; he never get’s hurt, and he hadn’t been there to help. With a sigh, he sinks under the surface, scrubbing at his face and hair as he tries to pull himself together. He needs to be _strong_ ; _Fíli_ needs him to be strong. He releases a shuddering breath when he reemerges, one that is more a sob than anything else, and focuses on scrubbing himself clean as quickly as possible, letting as much warmth into his body as he can in the short period of time of he allows himself in the bath.

He’s cleaned and out and drying himself in less than five minutes, hastily pulling on the clothes Dwalin has laid out for him, grateful for the fact that he chose one of his thicker tunics and a pair of fur-lined trousers, despite the fact that summer is rapidly approaching. He still feels cold straight to his soul. He speedily combs through his hair, lazily pulling it back and tying it in place with a strip of leather, before tucking the comb into his belt and tearing back out the door, nearly running through the halls.

Oin looks up in surprise when he reenters the House of Healing, clearly startled to see him back so soon, but he gives him a comforting smile once he sees that he’s changed. “He was up for just a moment,” he says. “I gave him a sleeping draught and some of the valerian tea. There are some more sachets ready for him. Mix him up some if he wakes up and is in pain at all.” He gives Kíli another smile before crossing the room and patting his arm gently. “You can stay with him for as long as you’d like. I’ll check in often enough, and if you need anything, just call for one of the healers.”

Kíli nods, grateful for his distant cousin’s help. “Thank you,” he murmurs sincerely. “I…just…thank you.” Oin gives him another comforting smile before he excuses himself from the room.

With a sigh, he settles himself next to Fíli’s bedside, brushing some errant strands of hair from his face. He looks calm and peaceful enough, but Kíli remembers his own broken bones well, and he knows that Fíli will be in a great deal of pain when he wakes. For a while, he just stares at him, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. He knows this isn’t his fault, he _knows_ , but guilt still gnaws at him. He should have been able to help, he should have _been there_ , and he wasn’t.

Finally, he grows tired of feeling useless, and he remembers the comb tucked away in his belt. He gets up to retrieve a small basin of cool water and a cloth that Oin had left for him, before settling down on the bed. They’ve stripped Fíli down to just his smallclothes, elevated his leg quite a bit, and covered him up with thick furs, but his face is still coated with sweat. He sets about dipping the cloth in the basin, squeezing it out and wiping it across his brother’s face with reverent care. Once he’s finished, he places the basin off on the bedside table, and starts pulling the mussed braids free from his Fíli’s hair. He combs out the larger tangles with his fingers, and then dips the comb in the water to tackle the smaller ones. He works gently, careful not to jostle his brother awake, and soon enough he has him looking nice and proper. He decides not to redo the individual braids, and instead pulls all of his hair over one shoulder and loosely braids it to keep it out of his face.

His task completed, he returns the basin to its original location, depositing the comb next to it, before settling himself back down in the chair at Fíli’s bedside to wait, guilt and anxiety warring within him all the while.

\------

He wakes with a soft groan, easing his eyes open to adjust to the dim lighting in the room. It’s quiet, and lit only by a single, nearly burned out candle to his left, right, making him think it must be nightfall. There’s a dull, throbbing pain in his right leg, one that’s made worse when he attempts to wiggle his toes. His eyes take in the sight of his leg, obviously swollen and bruised even in the dim lighting, bandaged and splinted and propped up on a small stack of pillows.

He winces. Thorin will be so disappointed in him. It was all _his_ fault that he fell in the first place. He’d been showing off for Gimli, goofing around and being _stupid_ when he’d slipped and fell and caught his foot in a bit of rope and snapped his leg clean in two. It had _hurt_ , Mahal had it hurt, but now all he could do was hope that he healed quickly and that Thorin wasn’t too cross with him when he returned home.

With a groan, he lets his head flop down to the left, small smile tugging at his lips when he sees a mop of brown hair, pillowed atop slender arms. His brother is hunched over, resting against the bed in a way that Fíli thinks must be entirely uncomfortable. He must be asleep, for he’s taking in deep and even breaths, and there’s a warm looking blanket draped across his back. He wriggles his arm out from under the covers to card through the fine chocolate strands, grateful for his brother’s presence, though he doesn’t want to wake him. He’s so tired that he’s sure he’ll be fast asleep again in just a matter of minutes.

The door is pushed open, the sound of it almost imperceptible. He flinches a little bit when he sees the tall foreboding form of his uncle, not at all looking forward to the lecture he’s sure to receive.

He’s surprised, then, when Thorin’s stern expression melts into one of relief. Judging by how he is dressed, Fíli thinks he must have only just arrived and come straight to see him. He manages up a small, tired, almost apologetic smile. His uncle’s eyes flick over to see Kíli, still asleep beside him, and a rather warm smile crosses his features as he comes to squat next to his bedside.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs, voice nothing more than a small whisper, but it has Kíli snapping up, bones in his spine cracking painfully with the rapid motion. He looks around, confused for a moment, taking in the sight of their uncle before turning to focus on Fíli’s face.

“Fee, you’re awake!” he murmurs, voice sounding completely wrecked. He coughs to try and clear it before turning to regard his uncle. “And you’re home,” he says, voice still sounding like a scratchy mess. “Oh!” he whisper-shouts. “Oin wants you to take some medicine; I’ll get it…” He starts to get up, but Thorin places a warm hand on his shoulder.

“Sit, Kíli, and rest,” he urges. “Dwalin told me about what happened in the woods; you need your rest as well.” He stands to retrieve the sachet of medicine and sets about brewing the tea.

Fíli furrows his brow and starts to try to sit up. “Wha-? Kee, what happened?”

Kíli just shakes his head, but moves to help him sit up, propping up a pillow behind him. “Just a lot of rain, is all. How do you feel?”

Fíli grimaces. “Like piss, really,” he answers, grimacing just slightly as they have to move his leg just a bit to help him sit up. “I’m sorry, uncle. I was goofing off and-“

“Don’t fret, Fíli,” his uncle calls, returning to the bedside with two mugs of tea. Fíli accepts the one he is handed gratefully, wrapping his fingers around it and soaking in the warmth he feels. He hands the second mug to Kíli and fixes him with a pointed look when his brother hesitates to accept it. “You are still young. These things happen.”

“I know, but I’m supposed to be you heir, I’m not supposed to do stupid things like that,” he continues.

Thorin chuckles lightly. “You put too much pressure on yourself, my boy,” he says with a sigh. “A little forced break will be good for you. I am just glad you’re alright.”

Fíli sags against the cushions with a frown, but doesn’t say anything else as he sips his tea.

“And you,” Thorin says, turning to regard Kíli. “Are you feeling well? Dwalin has already come down with a cough, and he thought you might be worse off than him.”

Kíli shrugs. “I’m just really tired,” he murmurs. “But we didn’t get a lot of sleep because of the rain.”

Fíli reaches over and reaches for his brother, frowning when Kíli drops his own hand down to grasp it comfortingly. “You’re freezing,” he grumbles. Thorin frowns and swipes his own hand along Kíli’s brow.

“M’fine,” Kíli grumbles. “Honestly, the two of you. Fíli’s got a broken leg and you’re _still_ both worrying too much about me.”

Thorin frowns at him, eyes narrowing when the lad coughs just slightly, but drops the point for now. “You should rest,” he murmurs, collecting their now emptied mugs and depositing them back on the counter. “I still need to unpack and debrief with Balin, but I will be back soon.” He bends to press a kiss to both of their foreheads, in a display of affection that’s become almost nonexistent in the past years.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Kíli murmurs, trying unsuccessfully to hide his shiver as he pulls the blanket still resting on his back tight around his shoulders. Thorin gives them both a wary look, before he takes his leave.

“Come here,” Fíli calls, but his little brother just shakes his head. “It’ll be warmer in the bed, nadadith,” he urges, not entirely sure why Kili is resisting.

“Don’t want to mess with your leg,” he murmurs. “It’s fine, Fee. I’ll just stay here.”

He frowns again, idly stroking his thumb along his knuckles in the barest display of comfort. “You won’t mess with my leg,” he slurs just a little. The tea is starting to have an effect, as he doesn’t even notice the throb in his leg anymore, and he can feel his eyes getting heavier. “You’re cold.”

“Do you want to lay back down?” Kíli asks, ignoring his request entirely as he reaches to adjust the pillows he’s propped against.

Fíli shakes his head, alarmed at how quickly he’s started to drift. “I’m sleepy,” he grumbles lightly.

“So sleep,” Kíli murmurs as he tucks the furs in around his chest. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And he does.

\------

When Thorin returns again, tired from speaking with Balin and the long day’s ride, the candle has burned itself out. He moves as silently as possible to light another one, a small smile tugging at his lips when the room is illuminated once more. Fíli is still propped up against his pillows, but he is sound asleep. Kíli is once again hunched over, sleeping on the bed with his head pillowed on his arms. With a sigh, he reaches down to brush some of the hair away from his face, a little concerned at how cold he still feels. He shakes his shoulder, gently rousing him from sleep. Kíli blinks sleepily up at him, before smiling slightly and coughing once.

 “Up with you, in the bed,” he demands, pulling the furs down to make room for him.

Kíli shakes his head. “Don’t wanna hurt him,” he grumbles sleepily, but rises from the chair anyway.

“You won’t,” he promises. “But you need to rest, lad. Dwalin’s fallen quite ill from the cold; I should expect you will too.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “Mister Dwalin doesn’t get sick,” he grumbles, but climbs up into the bed anyhow, nearly falling off of the edge in an effort to maintain distance from his brother. He feels an amused smile tugging at his lips as he ruffles a hand through the lad’s hair, taking his place in the chair and settling himself in. He’d much prefer his own bed after so long away from home, but Fíli certainly needs looking after, and he’s a bit concerned about Kíli, so the chair will have to suffice for the night.

“Is Fee going to be alright?” Kíli asks just as he’s making to light his pipe. He sounds small and scared and it pulls at Thorin’s heart just a little. He can’t remember the last time Fíli had been sick, let alone hurt, and he doesn’t blame the lad for being extra worried for him.

“He will be,” he affirms. “Oin assures me that the break was clean and should heal easily, much easier than yours.” He tucks the furs around his youngest nephew’s form, giving a reassuring smile when he’s met with worried brown eyes. “And he’s got you to take care of him. I’d expect you owe him a little after all these years.” That pulls a small laugh from the lad, along with a sheepish nod.

“Will we be okay?” he asks a moment later. “With the forge and…and money and everything. We didn’t get much food this time out and I know we’ll lose business without Fee working…”

“Hush,” he soothes. “When did you start worrying about all of these things, hmm? I will take care of everything else; you just focus on your brother.”

Kíli nods, and Thorin swears he can see the relief come off of him in waves. It’s not a moment longer before his breathing evens out in sleep, and Thorin is left to wonder when his boys had grown so. He’s not used to them fretting over such things as money and food, though it shouldn’t really strike him as strange. It felt as though, for the last two decades at _least_ , there was never enough food to go around the settlement, never enough money for all to be able to purchase what they need. Thorin had refused to accept gifts or extra food, things that people promised to his often enough, claiming that his royal station deserved such things, but he could never accept. He couldn’t bear to feast like a king knowing that his own people were struggling and starving.

It shouldn’t surprise him, though. Fíli’s taken on working at the forge to help them make extra coin, and Kíli’s taken on hunting to feed his family, as well as several others in the settlement. It shouldn’t surprise him that they’ve become aware of the burdens their people face.

And yet, neither of them has ever complained. Even as they see other dwarrows near their age gallivanting about freely, not weighed down by responsibility and tradition, they’ve not uttered a word about their displeasure of their duties. What fine princes they would be, one day.

Kíli hasn’t been asleep long when he dissolves into a coughing fit. Fíli doesn’t wake, but his arm reaches out, groping blindly for his brother to soothe him, and Kíli instinctively rolls and curls up against his side, his head pillowed on his brother’s stomach, and Fíli’s arm loosely around his shoulders.

He can’t help the tired grin that pulls at his lips. It reminds him of how he was with Frerin and Dís, how _close_ they were, at least until the dragon came along. After Smaug…after that they’d lost their closeness. Thorin became consumed with his burden, of trying to aid his grandfather and father in every way possible once they became refugees. Frerin had never been the same after he’d lost his One, and Dís…she could barely remember the grand halls of Erebor after a while, and that created a disconnect between the two of them that had lasted until her death. It was one of his biggest regrets, truthfully, that he hadn’t been patient with her, that he hadn’t really understood how _young_ she’d been (or how young _he’d_ been) when it had all gone to shit.

The boys have been close since they were just babes, and they were still as close as could be even now. He hopes they’ll never lose that.

With a heavy sigh, his heart weighed down with thoughts of his brother and sister, he leans forward to adjust the furs around the two of them, to tuck them in tight, once again wishing that he could shelter them from all of the horrors he’s known in his life. With Kíli curled closer to his brother, he decides to take the available space on the bed, toeing off his boots before settling up against the headboard. Fíli’s head slumps slightly to rest on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss against the top of his head.

With what he’s planning, he knows he needs to cherish these small moments. It’ll all be gone before he knows it.

\------

“I hate the blasted cold,” Dwalin mutters from where he sits near the fireplace, blanket wrapped tight around his shoulders. His voice is still horrendously scratchy, even three days later, and Thorin has to hide his grin of amusement.

“You must be going soft on me,” he teases lightly. “Kíli’s not sick, and he was stuck out just as much as you.” It was true; whatever chill had lodged itself in Kíli that first night had passed as soon as morning had come, and in the days since then his youngest had been dedicated to caring for Fíli.

“That’s ‘cause he had _me_ watchin’ over ‘im and you know it!” Dwalin retorts, dissolving into a rough cough.

Thorin hands him a warm mug of herbal tea before coming to sit by him, wry smile fixed on his lips. “Of that I am well aware,” he concedes. “And I thank you for it, my friend.”

Dwalin takes a long drink from his mug. “Don’t mention it. You know I’d do anything for those blasted boys,” he admits. “Though, I do think the lads are making me lose my hair,” he laments, running a hand over the bald, tattooed portion of his head, pulling a snort of laughter from his cousin.

“They’ve put enough silver into mine, that’s for certain,” he murmurs. “But they’re good lads.”

Dwalin hums in agreement. “Be right fine princes once we’ve reclaimed Erebor.”

Thorin sighs softly. “That’s what I wanted to speak with you about,” he says. “If you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

“I take it your meetings in Gondamon proved successful?” the warrior inquires, and he nods.

“Gandalf used Nori’s information to track down he was sending the false messages,” he explains. “They _were_ men, descendants of the survivors of Dale. Apparently, they’re still angry that my grandfather did not band with them when we fled the dragon; they’re under the impression that the let them suffer out of spite.”

Dwalin makes a small noise of displeasure under his breath.

“They’re well enough now, though, and they have to be the grandchildren, possibly the great-grandchildren of the survivors. They’ve had plenty of time to heal and they don’t…”he lets out a small huff of frustration. “They don’t remember. Somehow they think they’re entitled to the wealth of Erebor after all of their… _suffering_ ,” he spits. “They’re sending the letters to throw others off the trail, to try and give themselves an advantages once they’re ready to lay siege to the mountain.”

“Men,” Dwalin spits distastefully. “So blinded by their own greed…preposterous, that is.”

“Of that I am well aware, but it does give us good information,” he continues. “There are only a few of them with this blind ambition; they’re trying unsuccessfully to garner more support. Meanwhile, it proves that Dain _is_ trustworthy, at least as far as we can tell. The missives weren’t being sent to the Iron Hills because none of their workers would venture that far, that close to the mountain.”

“I still don’t like ‘im,” Dwalin mumbles. “There’s just something about him that doesn’t…doesn’t sit right with me. He may be right about the missives, but I wouldn’t go off believing every word he says now.”

Thorin nods in agreement. “Still…Gandalf has spoken with me of…dark things happening across Middle Earth. I think it better if we can count on him as an ally, at the very least.”

Dwalin just shrugs, not wanting to agree one way or the other. Thorin can’t blame him; Dain’s made plenty of slights about him throughout the years.

“That being said,” he continues, his tone turning serious. “Gandalf and I have begun to formulate a plan to reclaim the mountain.”

“Oh?” he gasps, sitting forward in his chair and regarding him with great interest.

Thorin nods. “The time isn’t right yet…we need…we need to wait for more of the signs to come to light before we proceed…but we’re going to form a company of dwarves, ten or so, loyal enough to Erebor, to _me_ , to accomplish this.”

“Only ten?” Dwalin inquires. “Seems a small company for such a large task.”

Thorin nods. “I thought so as well, but Gandalf…well, he’s pointed out that an army would be useless against a dragon. If we’re going to do this, we’ll need to exercise a great deal of stealth. A smaller company will be easier.”

“But the dragon sealed the gates,” Dwalin points out quietly. “Even if we could get there, there’d be no way in.”

“Gandalf is trying to come up with something for that; I believe he is hopeful that we would be able to lure the dragon out, if he is still living, and get in that way,” he elaborates. “We could always tunnel in, but that would take years, and ruin the element of surprise.”

Dwalin nods, his expression thoughtful. “So you’re forming a company. Who’ve you got in mind?”

“You and Balin, of course. Probably Oin, for his abilities as a healer, and Gloin as another warrior,” he murmurs. “I have not thought too far beyond that. Balin and I have been discussing who best to include, though we’ve not come to an agreement.”

“And the lads?” he asks, addressing the elephant in the room without hesitation. “What of them?”

Thorin runs a tired hand over his forehead. “I will only ask Fíli if he is of age, which I hope he is _not_. I’ll not ask Kíli.”

“He won’t be left behind. Especially if he’s of age and has taken the oath,” Dwalin argues.

“My mind won’t change on this,” he murmurs sharply. “If he takes his oath, I will reject it, and he won’t be held to it.”

Dwalin seems to take notice of the change in his tone. “Well, if all goes well, neither of the lads will be of age and we won’t have to worry about it.”

“Gandalf also wants us to hire a burglar as a part of the company,” Thorin continues, choosing not to elaborate on that question any farther. “I will probably ask Nori. He has proven to be very useful these past few years.”

“Well then…let’s hope we’re able to do this soon,” Dwalin murmurs. “I daresay I miss our home more and more often these days.”

He can tell by glancing at his friend that he’s full of more questions, but he doesn’t voice them, probably for fear of startling the thundercloud over Thorin’s own head. Not for the first time, he finds himself grateful for his cousin’s skills of observation as they fall into a familiar, comfortable silence.

\------

“What are you _doing_?” Kíli shrieks from the door, the bowl of stew he was carrying nearly slipping from his fingertips in surprise. He hastily sets them down on the bedside table, rushing toward his brother to duck under his arm and support his weight. “What are you doing out of bed?” he scolds, tugging Fíli back to the mattress.

Fíli uses his size advantage and holds firm, balancing carefully on his good leg and refusing to budge. “I can’t _stand_ to be in that bed for another minute,” he complains.

“Too bad,” he grumbles in reply, tugging on his brother once more. “Come on, Fíli, don’t be ridiculous. Get back in bed!”

“It’s not fair,” the golden haired prince whines. “You didn’t have to stay in bed the whole time your arm was healing.”

“I didn’t,” he confirms. “And it didn’t heal right and Mister Oin had to break it again, don’t you remember? Do you want him to break your leg again?”

Fíli positively blanches at the thought of being in that much pain again, finally relenting and letting Kíli lead him back to bed, grumbling all the while. “All I want to do is be able to go to the _bathroom_ by myself,” he complains.

“In two more weeks or so you can go all you want,” he teases. “But for now, you have homework from Mister Balin. And lunch,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

“What’s lunch?” his brother asks, suddenly interested now that food is a topic of discussion. “Not more rabbit stew, is it?”

Kíli frowns. “We’re out of rabbit meat, but I boiled the bones to make broth and put a bunch of vegetables in it.”

Fíli wrinkles his nose at that, clearly disappointed at the weak meal. He knows that the settlement is still recovering from the effects of yet another hard winter, and that food still wasn’t overly plentiful, even for them. Still, he accepts the bowl gratefully enough. “Have you eaten?” he asks as he digs into a spoonful. It isn’t awful, but a good bit of rabbit meat really would do wonders for his grumbling stomach.

“Yea, before I came,” Kíli replies, fiddling with his belt, an immediate tell that he’s lying, and he feels his heart sink into his gut at the thought of his little brother going without food because of _him_. For a moment, he thinks about pushing the point with him, about asking him to share, but he decides to drop it this time.

“Are you and Mister Dwalin going hunting again soon?” he asks, switching the conversation somewhat as Kíli settles himself into the chair at his bedside, idly flipping through one of the books Balin had sent over for him.

“Yea,” he answers, not looking up at him. “We’ll probably leave before the week is our, for a couple of days at least. Hopefully there’s some deer out this time, or maybe a boar.”

He finishes the rest of the stew without making any attempts at conversation, and Kíli steadfastly avoids his gaze the entire time. Finally, once he’s finished, he sets the bowl and spoon down on the bedside table with a rather loud _thunk_ that startles Kíli from where he is absently looking at the drawings in the book.

“Okay, out with it,” he says without any preamble. He _knows_ something is amiss with his brother, and he very much desires to get to the bottom of it. “You’ve been flighty all day.”

“Have _not_ ,” he murmurs, letting the book fall closed before setting it onto the bed next to him. “I’m just…worried, is all.”

Fíli very nearly scoffs at that. It seems like lately Kíli’s worried about _everything_ and some days he feels like he’s going to go mad because of it. He manages to bite his tongue, because he knows that, with him out of commission, Kíli likely has some very _real_ things to be worried about. “Like what?” he prompts gently instead.

“Like that if I leave you alone for two days I’ll come back to find you flat on your arse with you leg broken in two again, for starters,” Kíli snaps, with no real heat to it.

He feels a flush of embarrassment come over him. “M’sorry,” he murmurs, sounding utterly chastised. “I just…you don’t even _know_ how crazy being in this bed is making me. I should be at the forge, or training with Dwalin, or doing something, _anything_ useful.”

“You’re getting better,” Kíli reminds. “That’s useful.”

“I’m not taking care of you,” Fíli mutters before he’s really realized what he’s said. “I mean, I know you can take care of yourself but…have you eaten anything today?”

Kíli has the decency to blush and look down at his hands. “I had some bread. I’m fine. I’m sick of watered down rabbit stew…I can hold off for a few days until we get some fresh meat.”

“Are you sure?” he tries again, starting to feel guilty that he hadn’t offered to share.

Kíli nods. “I know my limits, Fee; I’m fine.” He’s careful not to mention the winter he’d spent nearly starving to death, but Fíli remembers it anyhow. “Besides, you’re healing. You need it more than I do.”

“I suppose,” he concedes quietly, not wanting to have this argument. “It’s just weird for me, you know? You having to take care of me after all these years I’ve spent looking after you.”

“Had to happen sometime,” Kíli says with a small smile.

Fíli grins back at him. “All of your clumsiness finally rubbed off on me, so it’s really all your fault anyhow.”

 _Something_ flickers across Kíli’s face in a flash, but he doesn’t have the time to comment on it as pain suddenly flares up in his leg. He can’t stop the sharp gasp and whine that follow, but Kíli is immediately on his feet.

“What is it?” he asks, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you need the valerian tea? For the pain?”

All he can do is nod as another thunderbolt of pain races up his leg. Oin had warned him about this, about the sharp, stinging pains that would come as the bone began to fuse itself back together, but he hadn’t anticipated it would be like _this_. With a groan, he sinks back against his pillows, closing his eyes tight against the pain. It feels almost as bad as when he’s broken it in the first place. Kíli is there a moment later, pressing the warm mug of tea to his lips and urging him to drink. He’s dimly aware that he’s slipping in and out of consciousness, and that Kíli is speaking to him, but he just cannot make out his words, no matter how hard he tries to focus on them.

 _He’s not really sure what’s happening, but Kíli’s there with him. He tries to open his mouth to ask what is going on, but no words come. All he hears is the dull roaring of blood through his ears, the sound of his heart hammering in his chest. He tries to get his brother’s attention, and Kíli does finally look at him, but when their eyes meet he sees that they are glazed over and blank,_ dead _. He coughs, blood spurting from his lips and putting crimson stains along his fair skin, before he falls to his knees and lies still_.

He wakes with a start, blinded by the bright candlelight around him. For a moment, he can only rely on what he feels (the dull ache in his leg, the cool cloth being pressed against his brow) and hears ( _“Shh, Fee; it’s alright. You’re okay”_ ), and he draws in great, gasping breaths of air as he greedily tries to fill his lungs and calm himself back down.

Finally his eyes focus, and he makes out Kíli’s anxious face from where he hovers above him. He looks so worried and it makes Fíli sad because he knows he’s worrying about _him_.

“You’re alright, Fee,” he whispers quietly, voice trembling. “Just a dream.”

“What…my leg…” he groans out, closing his eyes against the too-bright light of the room.

“Mister Oin said something happened when you got up to walk on it,” Kíli explains. “I…I didn’t really understand it, but he says you’ll be fine.”

As if on cue, the healer returns to the room, smiling slightly when he sees that Fíli is awake. “Gave me a right good scare there, laddie,” he says, crossing to his bedside to check his temperature. “Still, the bone hasn’t healed all the way and I think you gave it a good jostle. It’s still set right and will heal, but no more getting out of bed on your own, do you understand?”

He winches, either from the harsh tone in Oin’s normally friendly voice or the steady pain in his leg, before nodding in acceptance. Oin checks him over one last time before making sure they have enough sachets of pain medication before taking his leave once more.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Kíli is softly wiping at his cheeks with the cloth.

“Does it hurt so bad?” he’s asking. “I can see if Mister Oin has anything stronger for the pain; hold on.”

“No! Don’t leave,” he shouts, harsher than he means to, but he’s suddenly terrified by the idea of letting his little brother out of his sights. “I…it’s not that bad…I just…had a dream and I…just…need you to be here.”

 _That_ seems to speak to Kíli, who’s had more bad dreams than he could ever count. He gives Fíli’s forehead one more swipe with the cloth before setting it off to the side and crawling into the bed with him. He moves to sit right at his brother’s side, pulling his head to rest against his shoulder and idly stroking his fingers through his hair, pulling out the tangles he’s caused in his exertion.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kíli asks a while later, sounding hopeful and scared all at once. The tea is having a calming effect on him, and he almost feels like his mind is swimming before Kíli’s question pulls him back in.

Fíli nods, surprising himself when he discovers that he does, in fact, want to unload some of his fears. “I keep…I keep having this dream,” he starts, before furrowing his brow and shaking his head. “No…it’s not…it’s different every time. But you always…you always…die and…it’s my fault.”

Kíli’s hands still in his hair for the briefest of seconds, and when he speaks again, he sounds wholly unsure of himself. “But it’s just a dream,” he soothes quietly. “I’m still here. I’m fine.”

Fíli nods and lets his eyes slipped closed, almost lulled to sleep by the gentle fingers stroking through his hair, the steady sound of Kíli’s heartbeat under his ear. “You would die for me,” he murmurs. It isn’t a question.

His brother stiffens again. “Yes,” he whispers, like it’s something they should keep secret.

“I don’t want you to,” he replies, burying his face in the soft tunic Kíli wears.

“Only if I have to,” he promises, and from the feel of things, Kili’s started to braid his hair, and he finds himself relaxing, allowing himself to be lulled to sleep by Kíli’s gentle reassurances and the steady movement of fingers in his hair. Just before he slips back into oblivion, he has one final thought, one that he means to voice out loud but can find the energy to.

_We go together or not at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray! I really wanted to get this chapter done before DoS comes out for me on Friday, because I think I’ll need AT LEAST a week to recover from that madness. As always, I hope you enjoyed! Leave some comments and let me know what you think!


	17. Sixty and Fifty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Waaaahhhhhhh I am really sorry that this one took so long. I’ve written six versions of it and this one has bits and pieces of all of them! As per usual, my Durin Family Feels got completely out of hand.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Super mild potty words, depiction of animal death (aka Kíli and Fíli go hunting), mild sparring injury, Durin babies being the best bros ever, drunk Fíli, angsty angsty angst.

Spring was alive all around them, and the forest was positively vibrating with energy. As it were, Kíli was plopped down on the soft mossy ground, diligently skinning and cleaning his kills. It _should_ be a macabre sight, his little brother’s hands and arms soaked in blood and various animal entrails scattered about, but to him, it shows what a skillful hunter Kíli has already become.

Sometimes, he really wishes that _everyone_ could see his little brother the way he did. He still marveled at the fluidity and grace he used while moving through the forest, the ease with which he took down his prey. They were only out for a daylong hunting trip, but he’d already gotten three rabbits and a young buck, more than enough to feed them through the spring and still give them something to sell.

“Want help?” he asks. He’s not at all sure how to handle the buck, but Dwalin had shown him how to clean rabbits once or twice.

“Sure,” Kíli answers easily, and he quickly sits down beside him and begins to work in relative silence, one of them occasionally rising to fetch more water from a nearby stream. Kíli _always_ hums while he works (and, truthfully, Fíli thinks he doesn’t even realize it), and he is always content to sit and listen.

“Are you still nervous?” his brother asks a while later, just as he is finishing p the buck and reaching for the last rabbit. “You’ll be fine, nadad.”

He sighs. “I know, Kee,” he murmurs. “It’s just…it’s a big deal. Uncle keeps trying to downplay it, but I know that it is.”

In a few days, he will be sixty. His traditional education will be over (though Balin will still give him lessons about his duties as Thorin’s heir), he’ll be old enough for ale at the tavern, and he’ll take his place as a patrolman of the Dusk Watch. Everyone else seemed assured that he was ready, and he supposed that he was, but he was still completely and utterly terrified that he was going to make a fool of himself straight away.

He was to be their _king_ one day, and that meant he would be judged harsher than the rest.

“You’re fretting again,” Kíli observes, small smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “You’ll start to go grey, like Uncle.”

He reaches down to grab a fistful of moss and chucks it at his brother, who easily dodges it but squawks in indignation anyhow. “We’re only going grey because of _you_!”

Kíli flashes him an impish grin. “Still,” he continues, returning his focus to his work. “You put too much pressure on yourself. You always have.”

He sighs again, abandoning his rabbit altogether and reclining back against the soft ground. “There’s just…so much that’s expected of me, I guess. I don’t want to let anyone down. Especially Uncle.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I feel like I’m being stretched too thin. Working in the forge, patrols, training with Dwalin…it’s…I can’t even remember the last time I had a spare moment to myself.”

Kíli doesn’t say anything, but he must have stopped working, for he can no longer hear him moving at all.

“I feel like everything is changing so fast, and I’m not ready for it,” he confesses a moment later.

The continued, uncharacteristic silence from his brother worries him, so he cracks an eye open to regard him. He looks horribly sad and lost.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you to come today,” he practically whispers.

“What? No! That wasn’t…” Fíli jolts upright, concern pinching his brow. “That wasn’t at all what I was trying to say. This…no, this is _exactly_ how I would want to spend my free time.”

Kíli frowns at him, slightly confused. “But it’s more work…”

He cuts off when Fíli laughs. “Work? Nadadith, this has been a walking holiday for me!” He gestures down to his one and a half shoddily skinned rabbits. “ _You’re_ the one doing all the work!” he points out, making Kíli smile just slightly.

“Now that you mention it, you _have_ been pretty useless,” he teases.

Fíli flops back down to the ground with a huff. “Well, I _am_ on holiday,” he jests back, smile broadening when Kíli chuckles and returns his focus to the last rabbit. “Besides, I can’t remember the last time I had a moment to myself, but I _know_ it’s been even longer since I’ve seen _you_ and we’ve not been eating or sleeping.”

“Yea,” Kíli murmurs softly, and he can tell from his tone that Kíli’s missed him, missed _this_. But, his little brother is not often one to complain or voice his own hurts unless prodded, so he is wholly unsurprised. He starts to apologize, but Kíli is humming again, Thorin’s song of the Lonely Mountain, and it lulls him and soothes him to sleep on the soft forest floor.

_Kíli is screaming, the ravenous maw of a particularly vicious looking warg latched tight around his torso. His blood flows freely, staining the fur of the beast and the ground below him. His little brother is fighting valiantly, repeatedly smashing the foul scum over its head with his sword, but it won’t relent._

_It’s no use._

_He has to save him. With his sword drawn and a fearsome battle cry ready in his throat, he lunges forward, prepared to strike…_

_…but he doesn’t move._

_He struggles again and again in vain, for nothing gets him to move. Desperation claws at him, he knows he only has seconds to act before his brother is lifeless and gone, but he can’t. He can’t, he can’t!_

_Then the warg tosses Kíli aside as though he is nothing more than a rag doll, and his brother lay still._

He blinks awake with a start, surprised to see the long shadows of the trees, signaling that it must be late afternoon. Their kills are neatly packed and stacked, and the carcasses lay many feet away as a treat to the other predators in the woods, but Kíli is nowhere he can see.

“Kee?” he calls out as he gets to his feet, the dream fresh in his mind. Most of their weapons are still uselessly sitting about, and he quickly reaches down to retrieve one of his swords. “Kíli!”

There’s movement to his left and he whiles around to find a bare-chested Kíli, arms shining with water, arrow nocked in his bow and yes anxiously scanning for danger. “What happened?” he asks, alarmed.

Fíli visibly deflates, feeling like an idiot. His little brother had been not twenty feet away, crouched by the stream and presumably cleaning the blood and dirt from his arms, from the looks of him. “It…it’s nothing,” he murmurs finally. “Just disoriented when I woke up, was all.”

With a sigh, he moves to join his little brother at the stream, knowing full well that he could do with some washing up also. He’s acutely aware of Kíli’s concerned gaze as he pushes the sleeves of his tunic up and dips his hands into the still-frigid water, diligently scrubbing them clean.

“Was it the same one?” his brother asks quietly as he settles himself next to him and resumes his own washing. Were it summer, and were they a bit younger, they’d surely be splashing around in the stream and causing a great ruckus, but the water had yet to warm enough and they were far too old for such childish things.

“I told you; it’s different every time,” he snaps, then sighs, knowing that it’s fruitless for him to get frustrated with Kíli over this, before continuing with a softened tone. “Yea, it was the same thing. A warg this time. And then I couldn’t see you, and I just…”

Kíli scoots closer to him so that their shoulders are pressed tightly together. “M’right here,” he murmurs. “Sorry; I should have woken you up. Just wanted you to relax, you know?”

“No, it’s…it’s all right,” he replies, taking the bloodstained tunic Kíli had worn while hunting and using the clean edge to dry his hands. “I just wish I could help what my mind dreams about.”

Kíli has just finished tugging on a warm, dry tunic when he finally deems his hands clean and dry enough and rises from the stream. Suddenly, long arms are thrown around him from behind as he’s pulled into a tight embrace. His brother ducks his head down so that his forehead presses against his nape. With a smile, he reaches up to fold his arms atop Kíli’s where they’ve wrapped around his chest, embracing him in return.

“I’m fine, nadadith,” he murmurs fondly. “Really.”

Kíli nods and squeezes him for just a second before releasing him. “C’mon, Fee,” he says as he starts back toward their belongings. “Uncle will skin us alive if we’re not back before dark.”

\------

“Now, Thorin,” Balin calls out, and he’d think he sounds nonchalant if he didn’t know his cousin and longtime friend any better. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to speak with you about.”

They’ve had a rather productive evening, as they had only just finished going over their correspondences from Gandalf, scouring for any of the signs of yore that it was time to return to the mountain. They were both skeptical of putting too much faith in the old prophecies; Erebor was far too important to risk on the musing of old dwarves who had long sense passed. But, Gandalf _was_ sending them valuable information, in addition to tracking several orc packs that were milling about the mountain for reasons unknown.

“Is there?” he replies, attempting to keep the tone light but there is… _something_ …stirring in the air and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“About the lads,” he murmurs, sounding hesitant. “I think it’s time you…how shall I put this? You need to stop being their father, and start being their _king_.”

Thorin bristles at that. “My _responsibility_ to them is as their parent; to _raise_ them.”

“And my responsibility to _you_ , my _king_ , is to advise you on how to best rule your kingdom,” Balin replies calmly. “They are not ready, they are not strong enough, not well-trained enough to rule. If we were in Erebor –“

“But we’re not, are we?” Thorin snaps. “We’ve had this conversation before, _cousin_. They are good lads; they will make _fine_ princes once we’ve reclaimed the mountain. I will finish training them myself once we are back within those grand halls.”

“And if you fall on the way to the mountain? What if our enemies see your love for them and seek to exploit them as your weakness? What then?” Balin continues, much more subdued than before. “You’re too close, Thorin; you know this. You’ve been…you’ve been a fantastic father to them. Kind, loving, yet stern…but…now it is time for you to be their king.”

Thorin mulls over that thought for longer than he’d like, knowing that there is a hefty amount of wisdom in his older cousin’s words. He doesn’t like the implications, doesn’t like what it is that Balin wants him to do, but he can see the merit in his words. The very thought of someone seeking to harm _them_ as a way of getting to him lodges a bitter chill into his bones, one that he does not allow himself to dwell on. “I…and who will be their father, then? I will not abandon them, Balin.”

“I’m not asking you to. I just think…perhaps you should start to pull back a bit in your affections. Let them figure themselves out and shift your focus to training them as their heirs.” He explains.

“There was no lack of affection in my grandfather’s house,” he reminds. “I do not see how shunting my affections for them will make them any stronger.”

Balin waves his hand dismissively. “I know, I know. I just…I worry about them,” he placates, not wanting to turn this into a big argument. “You’re _everything_ to them, especially to Kíli. I only fear that their affections for you will lead to their downfall.” He sighs heavily. “I don’t know how to articulate this to you. I don’t know how to make this transition an easy one, but I know that it needs to happen, for their sake as well as yours.”

Thorin is quiet for a long moment, taking in his advisor’s thoughts with a sullen expression. “They have been deprived of too much in their lives,” he murmurs finally. “I’ll not deprive them of this, not wholly.”

Balin chuckles softly. “I wouldn’t ask you to. Just a little less, Thorin. To soften the blow when thing start to change.” He shakes his head, eyes focusing on the dwindling fire in the hearth. “Aulë knows it won’t be long, now.”

\------

Fíli winces in sympathy as Gímli lands another hard hit on his little brother. The younger dwarf had shot up in height in the last few years and had grown quite strong, as he’d poured his grief from his mother and sister’s passing into training to be as strong a warrior as his Da. Kíli scrambles to reset his footing and is able to block the next hit, but he’s been on defense their entire match and has yet to come close to gaining the upper hand.

“C’mon, lad!” Dwalin snaps from his side. “You’ve yet to land a hit on ‘im!”

From his other side, Glóin chuckles. “That’s it, laddie! You’ve almost got him now!”

The cheers from his father seem to spur him on, as Gímli lands three hard hits in quick succession, disarming Kíli and leaving him defenseless. Kíli is clearly about to yield, but Gímli comes at him with a fearsome battle cry, and he lands a particularly vicious hit to Kíli’s chest that sends him toppling down to the dirt.

“Hey, no fair!” Fíli shouts. Hits like that weren’t allowed in sparring, particularly when someone’s already won, and it twists his gut to see Kíli struggling to breathe on the ground. Without hesitation, he ducks into the sparring ring, skidding to a halt next to his brother, alarmed to see that he’s not able to draw in a breath. He grasps Kíli’s cheeks in his hands and presses their foreheads together.

“Come on, now, Kee,” he urges, trying to keep the tiny inkling of panic out of his voice. “Breathe. Come on!” He’s finally able to take in a deep, gasping breath, but there are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Fíli knows him well enough to know that those tears are more from embarrassment and bruised pride than actually being hurt.

“You alright, laddie?” Dwalin asks as he kneels next to him, concern marring his normally stern features. Fíli chances a glance up to see Glóin all but hauling Gímli away, his anger evident in his gait and the rough Khuzdul he’s shouting at him.

“Just breathe, Kee, come on,” he encourages. “That’s it; that’s good.” It takes a few moments for Kíli to catch his breath again, and once he does the pair helps him sit up. Fíli rubs his back comfortingly as he coughs violently, struggling to get his breathing back to normal.

Dwalin sighs heavily. “It was a low blow, laddie. Got a little carried away, he did.” He gingerly pods at the lad’s chest, frowning when Kíli lets out a sharp cry of pain. He catches Fíli’s eye and gives him a pointed look.  “Best get him over to Óin and check him out.”

Fíli nods and hauls Kíli up to his feet; concern washing over him as his little brother winces and exhales a sharp breath. “C’mon, nadadith,” he murmurs. “Let’s make sure you’re alright, okay?”

Kíli nods as he tucks himself close into his brother’s side. “S’embarrassing,” he huffs out. “He’s stronger than me and I’ve got fifteen years on ‘im.”

“He’s just had a growth spurt. Yours’ll come soon enough,” he soothes as they make heir way to the House of Healing.

“Everyone keeps saying that!” he snaps in reply. “You’ll be stronger when you’re older, Kíli. You’ll get bigger when you’re older, Kíli. You’ll _understand_ when you’re older, Kíli,” he scoffs. “Well I keep getting older and it’s still the same! Still too small and too weak and I just…I hate it!” He wheezes out in exasperation.

Fíli stops them and turns him around, forcing him to look at him, tutting quietly when he sees the tears pooling in his eyes. “Kee,” he murmurs, reaching one hand up to wrap around his neck and bringing their foreheads together.

“M’never gonna be good enough, am I?” he murmurs. “M’never gonna get bigger or stronger and I…I just…”

“Hush, Kíli,” he murmurs, pulling his little brother in for a tight hug, mindful of his probably bruised ribs. “You’re more than good enough, okay? You’re still so young, nadadith; you’ve a lot of growing left to do. Don’t lose faith in yourself.”

Kíli’s head falls down to his shoulder, and he draws in several short, gasping breaths. “Ow,” he mumbles quietly.

“Come on,” Fíli urges, pulling free and starting to walk again. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? We need to let Mister Óin have a look at you.”

Kíli leans heavily against him the entire walk, and even once they’re seated in one of the many rooms in the House of Healing he remains pressed tightly to his side. They don’t speak as they sit, but Fíli can _feel_ his brother’s self doubt rolling off of him.

His wishes his brother could see himself the way _he_ does. Then he’d understand.

“I hear a certain nephew of mine decided to take some of his anger out on you today?” Óin calls as he comes into the room. “He’s…well, I know I shouldn’t be making excuses for him, but he’s been having a rough go of it as of late, laddie. I’m sure he feels awful about it,” he murmurs. “He really does look up to you. The both of you.”

Neither of the lads says anything to that, but they make quick work of getting off his tunic. Fíli winces at how bruised his chest has already become as Óin prods at him, a deep crease forming along his brow as he works. Kíli lets out a sharp cry as he feels along his ribs.

“I think you have a few bruised ribs, laddie, possibly cracked, so we’ll take it easy for a while, alright?” he confirms a moment later. “Fíli, fetch me the arnica paste and some binding.”

Fíli is quick to do as he’s been told, wincing in sympathy at the diagnosis. Cracked ribs mean no archery, and no archery means no hunting for a while. No hunting will certainly make for a grumpy Kíli, and if he’s already feeling inadequate, this is sure to only make it worse.

Óin rubs the arnica paste on the worse of the bruising before wrapping the binding tight around his midsection. Kíli sulks the entire time, keeps his gaze riveted to the floor. “Are you in much pain, laddie?” the healer asks once he’s finished.

“M’fine,” he murmurs, though he still sounds a bit wheezy.

“I’ll mix you up some butterbur tea; that’ll help you breathe better,” he murmurs before digging through his supply of herbs to find the correct plant. “It should go without saying that you shouldn’t strain yourself for a few weeks, laddie. No archery, no hunting, no sparing. Am I clear?”

Kíli nods glumly. “Guess I’ll just be more useless than normal,” he grumbles under his breath, but they both hear it anyhow.

“Don’t say that!” Fíli exclaims, distraught.

Kíli’s eyes fall to the floor once more. “M’sorry, nadad,” he whispers.

Óin turns back around and hand Fíli a bag full of sachets for tea and a container of arnica paste before pressing a mug of tea into Kili’s hands. “Drink this, laddie. It’ll help you breathe easier, as I said,” he explains. “Finish that and then off with you! Get some rest. I trust he’ll be well enough in your care?” he asks, fixing Fíli with a stern look.

Fíli nods. “Thank you, Mister Óin,” he murmurs as Kíli sips at his tea.  The healer gives them both another long look before taking his leave. He takes his seat back at his brother’s side and wraps and arm warmly around his bare shoulders, small smile tugging at his lips when Kíli’s head automatically falls to his shoulder. He finishes his tea, and it sounds like he is breathing easier, which settles his nerves quite a bit.

“Feeling better?” he asks a while later, and Kíli nods against his shoulder. “Are you in a lot of pain? I know you told Mister Óin you weren’t, but those bruises…”

“’M a little sore,” he admits. “It’s nothing I can’t handle, Fee.” He sounds tired and upset, and Fíli doesn’t blame him one bit, but he wishes he could help make it better.

With a sigh, he presses a kiss against his forehead. “It’ll be alright, Kíli,” he soothes. “Just a few weeks is all, and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Uncle is going to be so cross with me,” he murmurs.

“It was a cheap shot,” he reminds him. “Everyone knows it. I’m sure Gímli is getting a lashing for it right now.”

“But this morning…this morning he told me to make him proud and then I go and get my arse kicked and I just…” He’s cut off by a harsh gasp of pain as he draws a breath that’s just a bit too deep.

“Come on, Kee,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you home and in bed. Uncle will understand.”

As they slowly make their way back home, he hopes that he’s right. Thorin had been growing more and more frustrated over the past few weeks, and there had been a number of times that he’d misdirected his anger toward the pair of them. It had already frayed Kíli’s nerves enough, and he hoped that their uncle would understand, that he would realize that it hadn’t been Kíli’s fault.

He’s ever aware of Kíli’s anxious mood, so once they get home he settles Kíli into his bed and fetches him some more tea and some books before curling up at the head of the bed with him and tucking him close to his side. “Sleep, nadadith,” he urges quietly. “It’ll hurt less when you wake.”

His little brother nods as he lets his head drop to his shoulder. He honestly isn’t sure if he will actually fall asleep or not, but he thinks it would do him a world of good to sit quietly and sort through his thoughts. He lifts his hand to card through the dark strands of hair in an effort to soothe him, and within minutes he notices Kíli’s breathing is deep and even.

He should be getting on to his own weapons training with Dwalin, especially since his first patrol is just two nights away, but he thinks the older warrior will understand that Kíli needed some looking after. Yet there’s a thought tickling at the back of his mind that Thorin might be cross with him as well for skipping out on his responsibilities.

But then again, his first and most important responsibility had _always_ been to Kíli.

\------

When he returns home, there’s a fire burning in the hearth and a pot of stew boiling in the kitchen. He makes his way back to the bedroom that the lads share, and, upon finding the door cracked open and the flickering of candlelight coming from inside, silently pushes his way into the room.

They’re both sitting on Fíli’s bed, his eldest reading from a rather large looking text, and his youngest curled up at his side, fast asleep. Fíli’s hand is idly stroking through his brother’s hair, though the rest of his attention is focused on the book in his lap. Thorin clears his throat to draw his attention, and clear blue eyes flicker up to his face, small smile coming to his lips when he sees him.

“How is he?” Thorin asks quietly as he steps into the room. Once he gets closer he can hear the slight rasp in Kíli’s breathing, and it causes his concern to grow, though he does his best to stay impassive.

“He’s fine,” his nephew murmurs. “I think he’s quite sore, though he doesn’t want to admit it. And his pride has been bruised almost as badly as his chest,” he adds. Then, almost as an afterthought, “He thinks you’ll be cross with him.”

Thorin is quick to shake his head. “Of course not; Glóin explained to me what happened. I do not blame him.”

Fíli gives him a warm smile. “He would do well to hear you say that,” he admits as he closes the book and slides it onto his nightstand. Gently, he disentangles himself from his brother’s slumbering form, small smirk of amusement coming to his lips at Kíli’s grumbled protest.

“Fee,” he rasps softly, hands blindly reaching for him as he blinks awake.

“More tea, nadadith,” he explains. “It sounds like your chest is tight again.”

Kíli nods sleepily before rubbing at his eyes. He coughs once, before it’s cut off with a rough gasp of pain and he forces himself to even his breathing out again. It’s not until he’s glancing up to his brother’s retreating back that his eyes focus on his uncle, and a sheepish, embarrassed expression crosses his features. “M’sorry, Uncle,” he murmurs sullenly. “You told me to make you proud and then…”

“Hush, Kíli. It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs as he gently, tentatively clasps a hand on his shoulder. He only lets it linger there for a second before pulling it away again, Balin’s words still burning in his mind ( _A little less, Thorin_ ). A look that he can’t identify crosses Kíli’s features for just a second before he fixes his gaze on his lap. “Come on; Fíli’s nearly got supper ready. Some food would do you well.”

Kíli nods and follows silently behind him, and in his gut Thorin knows he hasn’t done anything to reassure the lad at all.

\------

He’s a little sad to find their room empty when he wakes. With his increase in training to prepare for his patrol, Kíli had been picking up his slack at the forge. With his ribs still badly bruised, he wasn’t able to accomplish near as much as Thorin had needed him to as far as smithing was concerned, but he’d been getting back into leatherwork again, a trade he almost all but abandoned when he began hunting more regularly.

He’d collapsed in to bed bone-tired for the last three nights. Dwalin had been relentless in his training, as they’d worked for nearly ten hours a day, with minimal breaks. He hadn’t even seen Kíli at all yesterday, or his uncle. They must have gotten in much later last night.

But then his door is abruptly pushed open, revealing a smiling little brother and uncle. “Happy birthday, Fee!” Kíli calls happily, carrying a plate with what looks to be a delicious apple scone atop it.

He smiles up gratefully at the pair of them. “Thank you,” he murmurs contentedly as Kíli clambers up onto his bed to sit with him, handing him the plate with his breakfast. Thorin pats his shoulder warmly, but then he takes a step away from the bed, content to simply regard his lads. “Have I slept too long?” he asks.

“Probably,” Thorin admits, a small smirk playing at his mouth. “Though you’ve nowhere to be until dusk, so there is no harm in it,” he adds when Fíli positively blanches. “I’ve a small gift for you; for both of you.” He murmurs, reaching into his pocket to retrieve two small cloth bags and handing them each one.

They open the gifts with haste, revealing silver clips with their sigils engraved in them.

“Your father always wore part of his hair back, with a clip similar to these,” he explains in a soft tone.

“I remember,” Fíli whispers. “And braids in his moustache.”

“Aye, he did,” Thorin murmurs fondly. “It was tradition in his family, much like these,” he touches the neat braids that sit by his ears, “are in mine.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Fíli replies, as Kíli stays quiet, fingers tracing over the engraving of the clip.

Thorin abruptly clears his throat. “Eat; enjoy your day, Fíli. I am needed at the forge, but I will see you before you head out on patrol.”

He leaves without further comment, and when he does, Fíli turns to look at his brother. “Is something the matter with him?”

Kíli just shrugs and frowns, eyes still on the clip. “I don’t know. He doesn’t talk to me much,” he admits. “I was thinking he might just be sad and thinking about…about Mum and Da and Uncle Frerin a lot.”

Fíli hums in agreement. “He has seemed rather distance as of late.”

“I asked Mister Balin at my lessons the other day and he told me to leave it be,” he elaborates. “More things that I’m not privy to, I suppose.”

Fíli scoffs lightly and pops him lightly on the forehead. “More things you don’t need to be burdened with,” he clarifies.

“Mmm,” Kíli hums thoughtfully. “I just want to help. He used to always let me help…like, not talk to me about his problems but just…”

“Let you cuddle up with him and braid his hair? Let you comfort him?”

Kíli nods. “Yes, that. He doesn’t…it’s almost like he doesn’t want to touch us anymore. At first I thought it was because he was upset with me, but…”

“We’re not babies anymore,” Fíli reminds. “I mean I’ve got a full beard now and everything! He’s probably just…it’s time to stop such things, I suppose. We’re growing too old for such childish things.”

Kíli frowns. “I suppose,” he murmurs, but he sounds unconvinced. “I…it makes me feel better to be so close.”

Fíli gives him a small smile and throws an arm around his shoulder. He didn’t really understand why, but proximity and physical affection had always been a big deal for Kíli. It wasn’t as though he didn’t _enjoy_ hugs and the like, but he didn’t seem to crave it the way his brother did. “Well you still have me for all of those things, even if Uncle thinks we’re too far grown.”

“Promise, nadad?” he murmurs hopefully.

“Of course,” Fíli replies easily as he squeezes him a bit closer. “Do you have anywhere to be today?” he asks as he sets his clip aside and digs in to his breakfast.

Kíli wrinkles his nose. “I have a lesson with Mister Dwalin about military strategy this afternoon,” he grumbles.

“That sounds much more interesting than the one I had about ancient runes with Mister Balin yesterday,” he comments, succeeding in making his little brother chuckle lightly. “Would you be terribly bothered to fix my braids before you go?”

“’Course not,” Kíli says with the barest hint of a smile. “Can’t have you looking so ragged for your first patrol!”

He rises from the bed, disappearing from their room and returning just a moment later with a small basin of water and a comb, which he places on his nightstand. Once he’s finished his breakfast, Fíli scoots to sit on the edge of the bed and Kíli easily settles in behind him, immediately starting to release the unraveling braids in his hair before finger-combing it all straight. He only has to dip the comb into the basin a few times to pull out some of the finer tangles.

“I don’t…” he murmurs quietly a moment later. “I don’t know how Da wore his hair to do yours.”

With a small, sad smile, he glances over his shoulder. “I’ll show you. Do my regular ones first.”

Kíli complies with a request, and in a few moments his regular braids and neatly and evenly framing his face.

“He didn’t pull it all back,” he explains, reaching back to take a portion of his hair in his hands. “Maybe about this much? And then he had the clip in it, and a braid underneath that.”

His brother doesn’t speak as he neatly combs out and separates the section of his hair before adding in his clip. “I need another clasp for the last one,” he explains as he stands quickly, not meeting Fíli’s gaze at all as he crosses their room to retrieve one before retuning to his seat on their bed. It takes him less than a minute to complete the last braid. “There,” he murmurs gently.

“Now you,” Fíli commands as he grabs the comb, turning around to face his brother.

“The braid won’t stay, Fee,” he grumbles, but obediently turns and allows him to tend to his hair.

“So we won’t plait yours,” he says simply. He has Kíli’s hair combed and clipped back quick enough before he pats him on the shoulder. “All done,” he murmurs.

Kíli turns back around to greet him with a sad smile and watery eyes. “I wish I had known him,” he whispers softly.

“You look so much like him,” Fíli admits. “And you act like him, from what I can remember. I don’t…I don’t remember a lot, though.”

“Everyone says I look like Uncle,” he disputes, but there’s the barest hint of a smile pulling at his lips.

“You’ve got some of Uncle’s features, yes, but your eyes and your smile…that’s all Da,” he explains.

“Really?” he asks, smile pulling wider.

“Really,” he confirms before pressing a kiss against his brow.

\------

The second they’ve stepped back into the settlement, there’s a warm hand clapped firmly on his shoulder. He looks up to see Dwalin, gazing at him with a look that is a mixture of pride and happiness and relief. They’ve just returned from his first patrol, and, while Fíli had been incredibly anxious at the start of it all, it had been a great experience.

There were two patrols a day, one at dawn, and one at dusk. He had been assigned to the dusk patrol, which was usually led by Dwalin or Gloin, and sometimes Thorin, when he had the time for it. During the patrols they meandered through the woods around the settlement, keeping eyes peeled for orcs and goblins, as well as setting snares to catch rabbits and foxes and other small game to return to the settlement. He hadn’t really known what to expect when he’d joined the small band of warriors that made up the evening watch, with so many seasoned warriors, so many who had come from Erebor and remembered the wrath of the dragon, so many who had fought against the orcs that attacked the settlement years ago.

In a word, he’d felt horribly, completely inadequate. Even _Kíli_ had fought in more battles than him. He was totally and utterly _green_.

But, as luck would have it, he had been welcomed into the dusk patrol with warm smiles and had even managed to take out a wandering fox with one of his throwing knives, something that had earned him a fair amount of praise, as fox pelts were a prized thing commonly used in coats and clothing.

“You’ve done well tonight, laddie,” Dwalin murmurs as they enter the barracks, returning their weaponry and turning over their kills to be distributed and sold to the merchants and the like. “Much better than I had hoped, though I knew you’d be fine.”

“Thanks, Mister Dwalin,” he murmurs, feeling an elated smile tugging at his lips, one that he tries to tamper down, not wanting to seem over eager in the face of so many veteran soldiers.

“I think,” he continues, wry smile on his own face, “that deserves a trip to the tavern for your first ale.”

Truthfully, he’d been allowed to drink for several months, ever since his sixtieth birthday, and Bofur probably would have gladly slipped him a mug or two had he asked for it before that. He hadn’t felt a strong desire to do so; he was too concerned with keeping up with all of his responsibilities to take some time off for himself, but now that Dwalin mentioned it, it _did_ seem like a grand idea.

He nods in agreement, earning an uproarious cheer from the few remaining members of the patrol, eager to completely welcome their newest member to the group.

“This is why you want the dusk patrol, laddie,” one of the younger soldiers, Telchar, said lightly. “Successful patrol means we’re off to the tavern for drinks! Doesn’t happen for the dawn crew,” he explains with an easy grin.

As they all make to leave the barracks, he hesitates for just a second. “Should I…” he starts, unsure himself. “Should I fetch Kíli? I mean, am I allowed to?”

“’Course you are,” Dwalin replies with another warm smile. “Sure he’s eager to see you’re back and unharmed in the least. Just don’t keep us all waiting, laddie!” he adds.

He gives Dwalin a warm smile as he leaves. “I won’t!” he promises. Kíli had been right sulky when he’d left, and he thought it might do him some good to get out of their rooms for a while.

When he arrives home, he predictably finds Kíli starring broodily at the fire, idly twirling his carving knife in his palm, and untouched hunk of wood in the other. With a start, he looks up at his brother, before a wide smile splits his face. “You’re back!” he calls happily, jumping up from his seat, but Fíli catches the slight wince that crosses his features when he moves too swiftly for his bruised ribs.

“Aye, I am,” he confirms, gratefully accepting the warm hug he’s given. “Now come on; stop sulking! Have you eaten yet?”

“Not sulking!” Kíli retorts, but he flushes guilty. “I was going to wait to eat until you or Uncle were home,” he says, but Fíli knows that he means he was going to skip dinner entirely as part of his moping about.

“I’d figured as much,” he scolds lightly. “Come along; we’re going to the tavern! I’m going to regale you with tales of my patrolman prowess and sample my first ale.”

\------

The tavern is alive with energy. Bombur and his new bride, Eila, are active behind the counter, fetching drinks and meals for all of their patrons. He eventually spots Bofur, who appears to be in some sort of spirited debate with Nori, and Bifur, who is seated in one of the corner booths and carving away at something.

They’re greeted with raucous cheer from Dwalin and the rest of the dusk watchmen, and he quickly walks up to join them. Kíli hesitates ever so slightly behind him, but eventually follows behind, though he stays at his back the entire time.

“Here you are, laddie,” Dwalin greets as he presses a mug of ale into his hands before they’ve even reached the long table the watchmen have posted up at. He nods to Kíli in greeting as well, reaching out to clap a warm hand on his shoulder. He takes an experimental sip of the drink, nose wrinkling in disgust at the flavor of it, drawing out a hearty laugh from his weapons master.

“Don’t you worry, laddie,” Telchar croons from across the table. “Get’s better by the third or fourth one!”

“Oi!” Bofur snaps from nearby, though he’s smiling mirthfully. “Careful what you say about my ale!” His eyes light up a bit when he spies Kíli, who still looks wholly uncomfortable from where he’s hovering behind him. “C’mere, lad!” he calls, beckoning him over. “Got something to show you!”

Fíli watches him leave, sees how Bofur settles him into the corner booth with Bifur, who is immediately gesturing enthusiastically with his hands. It brings a warm smile to his lips; Bifur had become rather withdrawn since the accident that left him unable to speak, as the axe still buried in his head tending to scare dwarrow off. But he liked Kíli, remembered how Kíli had always carved with him before, and his brother was so unfalteringly kind that it didn’t surprise him in the least that he was still willing to spend time with the old toymaker.

A little more at ease now that his brother seems more comfortable, he focuses his attention the dusk watchmen are telling of their patrols and adventures. Most of them are entirely absurd and obviously embellished, but he finds himself laughing merrily along regardless. As the night passes he finds his comfort around them growing, eagerly chiming in with some of his own stories about his hunts will Kíli in the woods. He finds that Telchar was right – the ale _does_ taste better after the third one, and his laughter comes faster and easier. Kíli eventually rejoins him, as does Bofur, and he finds himself leaning close against his brother’s side, grateful that he chose to come along with him.

There’s another loud, boisterous cheer some time on, and he looks to the door to see his uncle strolling in, a smile in his eyes though his face remains impassive as usual.

“Thought I might find you here,” he says as he fondly claps a hand on each of their shoulders. “I take it the patrol went well?”

“Took down a fox, he did!” Dwalin exclaims proudly, and Fíli notices the pale rose flush that’s started to settle on his cheeks, wonders if he’s started to look the same. “An’ he’s on his fifth ale!” he cheers proudly, handing Thorin his own mug before throwing his arms around Fíli in a shaking, enthusiastic embrace.

Thorin frowns at them before taking a long drag from his own much. “Don’t go off letting him drink himself into a stupor,” he scolds his longtime friend. “That’s his last one.”

“Aw, Uncle!” Fíli protests, but he notices for the first time how the room swims just slightly when he turns his head too quickly.

Thorin offers him a gentle smile. “You’ll thank me in the morning. You’ve plenty more patrols and evenings at the tavern ahead of you, my boy.” Then he clasps his hand at the back of his neck and squeezes gently. Fíli knows that gesture.

It means, ‘ _I’m proud of you_.’

Knowing that it’s his last ale of the evening makes Fíli savor it more slowly. He even offers Kíli a sip when he’s sure no one is looking, but his younger brother just shakes his head with a bemused smile. It seems all too soon when he’s finished it, and Thorin is telling them to go home and get some rest.

“I don’t _feel_ tired,” Fíli grumbles as his little brother helps him stand. He waves to the rest of the patrol, goofy, contented smile splitting his face wide when they cheer once more, sending him off with a “Happy Birthday!” and a smile.

They only make it about five steps from the tavern doors before Fíli sways wildly to the side, and Kíli swoops in to pull his arm over his shoulder and give him some extra support. “Bofur says to get you some water when we get home,” he comments idly, and he can hear the smile in his voice.

“M’not drunk,” he slurs, and then laughs at how ridiculous it sounds. “Why’s my voice like tha’?”

“Because you’re drunk, nadad,” Kíli explains with a laugh.

“You shouldda had some,” he mumbles. “You looked bored.”

“Did I?” his brother comments. “I was just listening. And you know Uncle would have given me a lashing if I’d even had a drop of ale before my sixtieth.”

They make it home without much incident, though Fíli finds nearly everything _hilarious_ , but it does Kíli well to see him in such high spirits. It’s been so long since he’s seen him laugh so freely, and, even if the ale addles him, it is a welcomed sight.

“I’m going to fetch you some water,” he murmurs once he’s settled into bed. “And some bread.”

“M’fine,” Fíli protests, but accepts both offerings gratefully once he returns. He sits himself up to enjoy them, and once he’s finished, he fixes his brother with a rather serious look.

“What?” Kíli asks finally, though not unkindly.

“Come here,” he calls, arms extended to draw him closer. “You’re my favorite person in the whole world. Did you know?”

Kíli shakes his head as he settles into the embrace.

“You are,” he affirms quietly. “That’s why I’m so scared. I have to keep you safe,” he slurs. “’Cause if I can’t keep you safe then there’s nothing…there’s nothing else.”

“Fíli…”he murmurs quietly, shifting so he can see his brother’s face, worry clawing at him when he sees the tears streaming down his cheeks. “Hey, Fee, it’s all right. Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he soothes, adjusting their embrace so that his brother’s head rests on his chest.

“You don’t know that!” he sobs. “How can you know that? Kee, I’ve watched you get sick and break bones and be poisoned and…and…”

“Hush, nadad,” he murmurs softly, but he can feel his own tears welling up. It isn’t like his brother to get so upset, to cry so openly. Sure, he’s voiced his concerns to Kíli before, but not like this; _never_ like this. He’s in uncharted waters, he doesn’t know what to do, and it scares him right down to his core.

“You said…before, you said you’d die for me if you had to,” Fíli chokes out, trembling as he burrows in closer to his brother’s side. “Nadadith you _can’t_ ; you _can’t_! I can’t lose you.” Kíli wraps his arms tighter around him, trying to shush him gently, desperate to soothe him as best as he can’t. “I’ve lost too many people Kee…can’t…can’t lose you.”

“You won’t,” he murmurs, brushing the mussed strands of hair from his face. “Shh, Fee; it’s all right.”

It isn’t much longer that Fíli’s cried himself out, the alcohol and his long day finally taking their toll on him. And even though Kíli knows he needs to disentangle himself and get ready for bed, he can’t bring himself to. He doesn’t dare relinquish his hold on his brother, and he fights it every time his eyes start to drift closed to sleep.

Thorin had told him once, many years ago, that one day he would need to take care of Fíli as his brother had always taken care of him. That when Fíli became prince, it would be Kíli’s job to look after him. He just hadn’t thought it would come so soon.

He spends the entire night holding his brother close, chasing away his nightmares and willing Aulë to bring him peace. When Thorin pokes his head in a few hours later to make sure that they made it home safely, he gives him a sad, knowing smile, but crosses the room to press a gentle kiss against his forehead in a comforting gesture that he knows will only continue to become more rare.

It is in the early morning that he decided Fíli was right.

They aren’t children anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, my loves! Also, angsty drunk Fíli was entirely, 100% phoebe-artemis’s fault.


	18. Sixty-three and Fifty-seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – IT’S GREATER THAN GOLD’S FIRST BIRTHDAY, WAHOO! What a year it has been. Thank you all for coming on this crazy ride with me. I hope you like this chapter! It didn’t come out quite the way I imagined it would (but when do they ever ammirite?).
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Mild gore/violence, references to battle/violence, panic attacks and nightmares, Fíli internalizes everything, Kíli thinks too much and work himself up, Thorin is emotionally constipated, and Uncle Dwalin saves the day, mild potty words, mild burn injury (but nothing graphic).

“I feel like I’ve been writing these for days!” Ori laments with a dramatic groan. “Who decided people needed to have such long, formal titles, anyhow? Not the scribes; I’ll tell you that for certain.” He lets his head flop down to the desk with another long-suffering moan.

 

Kíli gives him a warm smile, even though his friend can’t see it, pausing in his work on some vambraces he intended to give to his brother. “It’s your own fault, you know,” he teases lightly. “You volunteered. Actually, I seem to remember you _begging_ Mister Balin to take you on as his scribe.”

 

“Oh, I wish I hadn’t. He’s been running me ragged lately, with the patrol being out so much and all. I wish I had a break!” he complains, though only half-heartedly. “But I suppose that won’t happen until this whole mess is over with.”

 

“Mm,” Kíli hums in agreement. “Do you think they’ll be back today?” he asks hopefully, wondering if his friend has any inside information for him.

 

About two weeks ago, the dawn patrol had spotted signs of an orc pack camping far too close to their borders for anyone’s liking. Thorin had immediately ordered round-the-clock patrols until the filth had been found and dealt with, even going so far as to require the patrolmen to serve twelve-hour shifts and to reside in the barracks until it was all over. That meant that Kíli had been on his own since then, and, naturally, worried sick for his brother and uncle. He still had a few more years before he could join the patrol, if his uncle even allowed him to, but he fervently wished he were out there, patrolling and fighting alongside them.

 

“I don’t know. Mister Balin’s had me running back and forth between the barracks and the wall, but nobody tells me anything,” Ori grumbles, bringing him back to the present. “But no news is good news, yeah?”

 

Kíli sighs. “I guess,” he murmurs, refocusing his attention to his leatherwork as he begins to attach a scabbard to one of the vambraces to hold one of Fíli’s throwing knives.

 

“Your brother sure does love his knives,” Ori comments with a chuckle before returning to his own work.

 

“He just likes to be prepared,” Kíli replies, almost absently. “For anything.”

 

They lapse back into a companionable silence, but Kíli finds that his mind drifts far too much for him to focus completely on his task. He wishes he’d made the vambraces weeks ago, so his brother could have them now.

 

Just in case.

 

\------

 

Blood rushes through his ears and his hands are still shaking with adrenaline. The stench of death and orc-flesh is so strong that he _thinks_ he might vomit. His head is spinning wildly, so he squeezes his eyes as tight as he can manage in an attempt to rebalance himself.

 

Is this what Kíli had seen, what he had _done_ when he’d been so, _so_ young?

 

He understood now, the nightmares that had long plagued his baby brother. Even behind his tightly closed eyes he can still see the ghastly sprays of blood as metal cut through flesh. Even through the rush in his ears he can still hear the screams. His stomach lurches violently and falls to his hands and knees, retching harshly and emptying its contents onto the bloodstained earth.

 

“Fíli!” he hears his uncle frantically shouting from behind him. He tries to take a breath to steady himself as he leans back on his haunches, but it tastes of rotten flesh and he chokes instead. A strong arm wraps around his shoulder, and he bonelessly leans into the warmth that’s pressed to his side.

 

“Fíli,” Thorin tries again, sounding much calmer this time. “Are you hurt?”

 

He shakes his head. “No, I’m…I’m not hurt,” he mumbles out, dismayed at the lump that’s formed in his throat and the tears he peels prickling at the back of his eyes. “Uncle…”

 

“Hush, my boy,” Thorin soothes gently. “It’s alright. You’re…this is hard, lad. I know. You will be alright,” he promises as he gently pulls him to his feet. Fíli stays pressed gratefully against his side, fearful that the shaking in his limbs would keep him from staying upright on his own. With a soft sigh, Thorin starts to walk with him, leading him away from the small clearing-turned-battlefield.

 

“D’you think there’s more?” Fíli asks, mildly panicked when they step into the woods adjacent to the clearing where they’d ambushed the orc pack.

 

“It is unlikely. Sit,” he commands, once they’ve reached one of the many small streams that crisscross the forests surrounding the mountain. “Our scouts counted twenty-eight, and that is how many we’ve encountered. Drink,” he instructs as he presses a waterskin to his lips, and Fíli does so gratefully.

 

“That…that was…awful,” he grinds out, relishing in the feel of the cool water loosening the tightness in his throat and settling the churn in his stomach.

 

“Battles usually are,” Thorin admits as he kneels next to him, reaching down to dip his hands in the water and scrub them clean. “You did well, though. Stayed calm. Fought hard. I am impressed. Come, wash your hands clean.”

 

Fíli looks down to stare at the gore on his hands, horrified at the mix of blood and dirt. The revelation crashes down on him. “I’ve killed someone,” he murmurs, a cold numbness thrumming through his veins. “T-twice.”

 

“You killed some _thing_ that only sought to bring you harm, that meant to kill _you_ ,” his uncle reminds as he reaches for his hands, pulling him into the water and starting to scrub them clean himself. “It is…a gruesome thing to take a life, orc or not. It is not often pleasant, but it is a necessity. At least for us.”

 

With a shaky nod, he leans forward, taking charge of cleaning his own hands, mindful of how much they still tremble. A moment later, Dwalin flops back down to the ground in a huff, cursing in Khuzdul under his breath. Fíli blanches at the large amount of blood he can see coming from the older warriors ear.

 

“Not to worry lad,” he grumbles. “Didn’t much care for that bit of my ear anyhow.” As he starts to clear the blood away, revealing the jagged, torn edges, he realizes that Dwalin’s ear had been _bitten_ off, and he suddenly feels the need to vomit again, but is able to press it down.

 

“How many?” Thorin asks, tone somber and worried.

 

“Only four,” Dwalin answers just as sullenly, casting a concerned glance toward Fíli. “Anfri, Madoc, Moran, and…” he hesitates and sighs. “And Telchar. I’m sorry, laddie. I know you liked him.”

 

Fíli suddenly feels very much like crying. In the few short years that he’d been on the dusk patrol, he and Telchar had become rather good friends. They weren’t too far off in age and both used the twin swords. They’d trained together, drank together…and he’d come to think of him as one of his closer friends. He bites the inside of his cheek to will the tears down, falling into silence and focusing instead on scrubbing his hands completely clean.

 

“Send the scouts ahead to notify their families,” Thorin commands softly, eyes not leaving Fíli’s face. “See to it that the orcs are burned.”

 

Dwalin nods and hastily finishes cleaning himself before taking his leave. He squeezes a comforting hand on Fíli’s shoulder as he departs.

 

“Uncle,” Fíli whispers. “Uncle, I want to go home.”

 

Thorin gives him an uncharacteristically soft and understanding smile. “I’ll send you with the scouts,” he says, knocking their foreheads together tenderly, and Fíli nearly sobs in relief. “Go; catch up with Dwalin. I’ll not be far behind you.”

 

He nods, getting to his feet quickly, anxious to leave the forest, one that he has many happy memories with his brother in. They’ve cleaned kills in the very clearing where the orcs were camped. How easy could it have been for one of them to stumble upon the orcs instead of the scouts, for all of his worst nightmares to come true? He shakes his head, trying to clear the unbidden images from his mind, just as he catches up to Dwalin.

 

“Uncle wants me to head back with the scouts,” he explains at the warrior’s bewildered expression, keeping his focus on his weapons master and refusing to let his gaze wander to the lifeless orcs.

 

“Aye, that would probably be best,” Dwalin murmurs as he nods in agreement.  “Let me write up a missive for you to take to my brother, then off with you.”

 

The walk back to the settlement takes nearly two hours, and no one speaks. Fíli tries very hard to keep his mind from drifting to darker places, tries to keep his uncle’s words in mind, but he can’t shake the guilty feeling that’s settled into his soul. He’s killed. It was to protect himself and his fellow patrolmen; it was _necessary_.

 

He needs to get back to Kíli, needs his help, because Kíli’s been through this before, even if he’s never spoken of it. For _years_ his little brother had always sought him out for advice, and now it was Fíli who needed it in return. He doesn’t know what to do. He knows that Uncle and Dwalin could help, but he _needs_ Kíli.

 

He hastily breaks away from the scouts the second they’re back within the settlement walls, ignoring the strange looks he knows he’s getting, resisting the urge to break out into a full on sprint through the halls.

 

“Fíli? Fíli, wait!” he hears Ori call from behind him. He doesn’t turn back, but he does slow his pace a bit, allowing his friend to catch up.

 

“Where’s Kíli?” he asks as soon as Ori is by his side. As an afterthought, he digs down into his pocket and retrieves the missive for Balin. “Here,” he says as he presses the parchment into Ori’s hand.

 

“He was helping Mister Bofur in the tavern a while ago,” Ori says hesitantly. “Fíli…you’re…there’s blood all over you. What happened? Are you alright?”

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” he snaps. “We took out the orc pack. It’s in the missive; get it to Mister Balin.” He speeds his steps up again, glad when Ori doesn’t continue to follow him, though he feels a bit ashamed with himself for losing his temper so easily and lashing out at his friend.

 

He finds his brother exactly where Ori had said he would, scrubbing dishes in Bombur’s tavern with his back to the door. Since it was midafternoon, the tavern was mostly empty, save for one patron Bofur is speaking with in the far corner. His exhaustion gives him tunnel vision, and he becomes so focused on getting to Kíli that he doesn’t hear they toymaker thrice call his name.

 

Kíli turns then, looking confused at first, before his face melts into some mixture of worry and fear and anxiety that Fíli’s not seen before and never wants to see again. He hastens his steps, swiftly maneuvers behind the counter, just as Kíli’s dropped the dish he’d been holding back into the basin. He reaches out and grabs his brother’s arm with more force than necessary, before pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace, not caring about the blood and gore on his clothes. Kíli’s arms are cold and wet, but once they wrap around him, relief floods him like a draught. “Nadadith,” he manages to whisper as he clutches to him like a lifeline.

 

“Fee,” Kíli murmurs, sounding so horribly worried that it makes him sick. “Fíli, are you hurt? Where’s Uncle?”

 

“M’not…not hurt,” he mumbles as he presses his face into Kíli’s neck, relishing in the comfort their closeness brings. “Uncle’s fine; he’s coming. But…the orcs…and we fought, and I…I…”

 

“Shh,” his brother soothes gently, and Fíli can feel how he relaxes once he’s assured his family is safe. He’s rubbing soothing patterns against his arms and back, as best as he can around the scabbards and his pack. His carefully constructed dam around his emotions starts to crack, and he chokes out a sob against his brother’s neck. “Shh, nadad; not here. Come on. Let’s get you home and cleaned up, okay?”

 

He nods, pulls away and tries to compose himself, but he feels his resolve slip when he’s met with worried brown eyes. He can’t even _look_ at Bofur, who’s hovering near the counter, but he does manage some sort of grumble on thanks when the older dwarf promises to bring them something warm for supper later.

 

He doesn’t know how they make it home. All he knows is the swirling, vicious thoughts in his mind ( _murderer….murderer…_ ) and the tumultuous churn in his stomach. It’s only Kíli’s hand on his arm that grounds him, but even that falls away as everything dims around him and fades to black.

 

\------

 

They’re teasingly close to home when Fíli stumbles and falls slack, yet he’s thankful they are far enough from prying eyes. He just barely manages to catch him before he can hit the cold, unforgiving stone, biting out a curse when he sees that his brother is well and truly unconscious. He does his best to remember his training and stay _calm_ , but he’s right terrified to see his brother in such a state. For the first time in his life, he finds himself grateful for Dwalin’s insisted extra strength training, as he’s able to heft his older brother upon his shoulders to get him the rest of the way home.

 

He takes him straight to the washroom and places him as gently as he can manage against the wall, pulling his pack and weapons from him, concern growing at the fact that he was still out cold. He quickly crosses the room, finding a clean cloth and dipping it into the cool water waiting in the washbasin.

 

“Come on, Fee,” he murmurs as he kneels in front of his brother, swipes the cool cloth along his brow, and busies himself with wiping away the dried sweat and traces of blood as best as he can. He’s never seen him like this. He doesn’t know what to do to help.

 

With a sigh, he presses his forehead against his brother’s and takes a deep, steadying breath to force him to focus.

 

Once he’s settles his nerves a bit, he sets about finding the tinderbox and lighting the wood to heat the water for the bath, though it takes him six tries to light the wood for how badly his hands are shaking. As an afterthought, he digs through a nearby cabinet and locates a small vial of lavender scented oil, remembering how Bofur had used it to help calm him down after his own foray into battle, and hopes that the scent would bring some comfort to his brother as well.

 

Maybe it will serve to calm _himself_ down as well; his hands are shaking something fierce.

 

“Kee,” Fíli gasps out from behind him, drawing him out of his thoughts.

 

His face softens as he turns to regard his brother. Fíli looks a wreck; his hair is a complete mess, face is pale and drawn with huge dark circles standing out in stark contrast under his eyes. “Oh, nadad,” he murmurs softly, quickly crossing the small room to wrap his arms around him. “It’s alright, Fee. It’s okay. You’re home; you’re safe now.”

 

Fíli chokes out a sob and all but crawls into his lap. It’s such a strange role reversal that Kíli isn’t sure what to do, isn’t sure what will help his brother when he’s in such a state. He tries to think of how Fíli always settles him back down, and settles on rubbing nonsensical patterns against his back and rocking him gently.

 

It’s like something physically snaps inside of his brother, when he burrows even closer and begins to sob in earnest. Kíli knows that he would want for Fíli to let him cry himself out, so that’s what he does. He doesn’t offer any words of comfort, doesn’t try to calm him down, just holds him close and lets him weep.

 

It doesn’t take long. Kíli is sure his brother hasn’t sleep properly in weeks, and if he’d come straight home after the mentioned battle, as he thinks he must have based on the state of his clothes, he’s sure it’s been days since he’s slept at all. He slumps against him, a small, defeated noise wrenching itself free from his throat.

 

“C’mon, Fee,” he murmurs quietly. “Lets get you into the bath. It’ll help you feel better. I promise.”

 

His brother just nods against his chest, though he is reluctant to let go of Kíli’s tunic when the younger stands to finish readying the bath. He just sits numbly, staring straight ahead. Shock, Kíli remembers. That was what Oin had told him after his first battle. He shudders unintentionally before willing those memories back to the farthest depths of his mind. He adds the warm water to the bath, adjusting it to a soothing temperature, before adding some of the oil to it.

 

He returns to his brother, kneels in front of him and reaches for his arm, removing one vambrace and glove, then the other, his belt, and his ruined overcoat. It isn’t until he starts to pull the bloodstained tunic over his brother’s head that Fíli responds, dutifully lifting his arms to remove it. He starts to remove his chain mail on his own, so Kíli turns his attention to his boots instead. It takes a while before they are able to get him into his smalls, but Kíli is relieved to see that, aside from a few bruises, his brother is physically no worse for wear.

 

He pulls Fíli to his feet, grateful now that they’re nearly the same height, as he is easily able to wrap an arm around his torso and lead him the short distance to the washbasin. Fíli swiftly drops his smalls before gingerly climbing into the basin, sighing with relief as the warm water washes over his skin and soothes him. Kíli lets him get settled, then fetches soap and a cloth for him to clean himself with. Fíli seems content to just relax in the warmth and leaves the soap and cloth to float aimlessly along the water, leaning back in the basin and letting his eyes slip closed.

 

Kíli kneels behind him and begins to work out the snarls in his hair, pulling out all of the clips and beads and unwinding the frazzled braids. Fíli hums in appreciation at the treatment, and once he’s finished, Kíli is quite sure that his brother must have fallen asleep, as he’s gone so still and quiet.

 

“How did you forget?” he asks a while later, voice utterly wrecked from his earlier crying, just after Kíli has settled himself in to keep watch over his brother, his back pressed against the basin.

 

Kíli chews on his lip for a moment, as unbidden images of orcs and death flood his mind. “I didn’t,” he says quietly. “It’s still all there.”

 

“But when we got home, you were...I don’t know.” He can hear the frown in his brother’s voice. “I don’t feel like I’ll ever stop...seeing it. And I...I killed them.”

 

“You didn’t see me straight after. You can ask Mister Bofur...I...I couldn’t be alone. If they left me by myself I panicked and I screamed and I tried to find them but I couldn’t, because I was hurt,” he whispers in reply. “I didn’t sleep for days, not without Mister Oin drugging me. It was better when you and Uncle got home but I still...I still have nightmares,” he admits. “Uncle told me once that he does too, so I don’t know if it ever goes away.”

 

He hears Fíli shift in the water, and sopping wet arms wrap around his neck as his brother adjusts and lets his chin come to rest on his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me that,” he says, sounding almost hurt, and guilt swells up within him.

 

“I didn’t want…I didn’t want to be a burden,” he confesses, reaching a hand up to grip Fíli’s forearm. “It...it’s fine. I can manage it. They’re not as bad as they once were.” He squeezes his arm gently, as if in an apology.

 

“How does it get better?” he whispers. “I...I _killed_ , Kíli. I...does that make me...am I a...a murderer?” he asks, voice full of fear and self-doubt.

 

“Am I?” Kíli asks in return, and Fíli starts in surprise.

 

“What? No! Of course not!” he says, voice filled with an emotion Kíli can’t quite identify.

 

“Why not?” he asks. “I’ve killed...I kill more often than you, with my hunting.”

 

“That’s different,” Fíli sputters. “That’s...that’s to keep us fed. To keep us alive.”

 

“That’s what you did,” he counters. “You killed to live. You had no choice. Fee, it...Mister Bofur told me that sometimes you have to kill, or be killed. That you have no other choice.”

 

“I...you’re right. I just…” he stammers, then stops, seemingly at a loss for words.

 

Kíli shifts then, turns around, careful not to break the circle of his brother’s arms. “You did what you had to do,” he murmurs as he presses their foreheads together. “If they had come after me, or Uncle, would you have hesitated?”

 

Fíli shakes his head immediately. “No,” he affirms. “I wouldn’t have.”

 

They sit like that for a while; pressed as close as they can with the basin in between them, Fíli quietly drawing the strength he needs from his younger brother.

 

“Help me with my hair?” Fíli eventually asks, and Kíli nods. In no time at all, they have him cleaned from head to toe, and when Fíli rises from the basin and starts to dry himself, he realizes that Kíli was right; he _does_ feel better, if not wholly exhausted.

 

“Come on,” Kíli says once he’s pulled a clean, dry sleeping shirt over his head, reaching an arm out to help steady him. “Let’s get you into bed. You look like you’re dead on your feet. Are you hungry?”

 

As if on cue, Fíli’s stomach gives a soft growl. “Sleep first,” he murmurs, noticing how the room seems to swim around him. “And maybe some tea?”

 

Kíli settles him into bed, tucks his furs gently around him, brushes the hair from the right side of his face, and squeezes his left hand gently, offering him a small smile as he stands to leave. He’s struck by how similar his brother is to their mother, without having ever known her. He remembers only a few things about her, but she’d always tucked him in the exact same way - furs, a brush of his hair, and a squeeze to his hand. He doesn’t notice when Kíli leaves, and it seems like just a second later that a warm mug of tea is being pressed against his mouth. He can taste the sleeping draught that his brother has snuck into it, but he’s surprisingly grateful for it. He wants to fall asleep as quickly as he can, keep the nightmares that he knows will come at bay.

 

The draught works quickly, and Fíli is asleep within minutes.

 

Kíli has to bite his hand to stifle the sob of sympathy that comes before he can stop it.

 

\------

 

It’s late by the time Thorin manages to return home. He’d gotten caught up in his duties as soon as he’d returned to the settlement, all but dragging Dwalin and the rest of their injured in to see Oin and the healers about their wounds, and personally offering his condolences to the families of his fallen warriors.

 

Everything sat ill within his soul. He’d seen the look in Fíli’s eyes before the lad had departed, had known how traumatized he must have been. He was still too young to see such things, to _partake_ in such things, prince and warrior or not. As his Uncle, it was _his_ responsibility to have taken care of his eldest nephew after such an affair, but it was, yet again, another task he’d been forced to push on to Kíli instead.

 

He wipes a tired hand down his face. They’ve been robbed of so much, both of them. He wishes, once again, that he’d been able to protect them better.

 

He’s more than a little pleased to see the fire in the front hearth lit and tended to, as well as the serving of stew left out for him, feels incredibly grateful for both of his lads. Even though his stomach grumbles in protest, he leaves the stew for now, decides instead to venture to the lads’ room to see how they fare.

 

He is surprised to see them both awake, Fíli sitting up in the bed with his own bowl balanced in his lap, and Kíli sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, knees drawn up tight to his chest.

 

“Uncle!” Fíli calls, sounding wholly exhausted, but his eyes seem brighter and clearer than they were before he left. Kíli looks up and offers him a small, albeit tired smile.

 

“My boys,” he murmurs fondly, crossing the room quickly to sit at the edge of the bed, reaching across to cup Fíli’s cheek warmly and press their foreheads together. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Better,” his heir murmurs. “Much, much better.”

 

Kíli stands and stretches just slightly, reaching for Fíli’s empty bowl and murmuring something about warming Thorin’s before slipping from the room. There is something decidedly off about the lad, but he chalks it up to being the result of old memories being dredged up.

 

With a sigh, he scoots closer to his heir, wraps an arm around him and hugs him tight. “You’re not hurt?”

 

Fíli shakes his head. “A little bruised, but I’m fine,” he says. “How is Mister Dwalin?”

 

Thorin chuckles softly. “Grumpy,” he admits. “None too please with me forcing him to see Oin, but he will thank me later.”

 

Fíli has to stifle a small laugh, but his face quickly turns somber. “Did you go and see Telchar’s family?”

 

He nods. “I did,” he murmurs. “They are grieving him, but they were proud of his valor in battle. It did them well to hear that you were alright.”

 

Fíli nods and chews on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. “I…I will go and see tomorrow, I think. I want…I want to be there when they return him to the stone.”

 

“Aye, you should be. You knew him well,” Thorin murmurs. “Though I would give them a few days to grieve before you visit. He was their only son.”

 

Kíli returns then, carrying a mug of tea with him. “The stew is almost warm,” he explains as he hands the tea to his brother. “Do you want to eat in here?”

 

Thorin shakes his head. “No; I should let you sleep, Fíli. I will take my leave. It does my heart good to see you well.” He gives Fíli another quick squeeze before he takes his leave, giving Kíli a nod of appreciation as he passes.

 

\------

 

He has to fight the angry bite of jealousy he feels when he returns to their room, from the sight of Thorin freely embracing his brother.

 

It stings more than he’d like it to. He knows he’s being childish about it, but his uncle has been steadily increasing the distance between them. When he’d returned home, Kíli had wanting nothing more than to run into his Uncle’s arms and embrace him fully, to take comfort in physically _knowing_ that his guardian was home and safe and well, but he doesn’t. The last time he had, Thorin’s arms had stayed slack at his sides, and that had hurt more than anything he’d ever felt before.

 

He’d told himself that it was because they were nearly grown, that they were no longer children and that he was silly for craving the physical comfort from his Uncle at his age.  Thorin had been dodging any attempts that Kíli had made, and he’d been limited to the occasional awkward squeeze of the shoulder.

 

He knows he’s being childish. He _knows_. Fíli’s been through something awful, and he _deserves_ to be comforted by their uncle. He doesn’t deserve a mopey, childish little brother who sulks because Fíli is getting hugs and he isn’t.

 

It _hurts_ , even though he knows it shouldn’t. It’s far from proper for a dwarf at his age to be moping about hugs.

 

“Are you alright?” Fíli asks as soon as Thorin has departed their room. “You look awful thoughtful.”

 

“Do I?” he mumbles, flashing him a small, hopefully playful looking smile, not wanting to burden his brother with his troubles, not when he needs him to be strong. It seems to work, as Fíli gives him a smile in return. “Are you tired?”

 

His brother hums in agreement. “I think I could sleep a bit more,” he confesses. “Is that bad?”

 

Kíli shakes his head. “Of course not,” he replies, immediately moving to help him readjust in the bed so that he’s lying down, taking his swiftly emptied mug from him and setting on the nightstand. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks, genuinely not sure what his brother will want.

 

“Please?” Fíli murmurs, and he sounds small and scared and lost again that Kíli doesn’t hesitate to crawl into bed beside him.  He turns so they are both on their sides and facing one another, and Fíli tucks his head under his chin with a sleepy yawn. “Thank you,” he murmurs a while later, words slurred with sleep, and Kíli is pleased to see that his tea was successful at helping him fall asleep. “Love you, nadadith.”

 

“Love you,” Kíli murmurs with a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well, Fee.”

 

Fíli’s breathing turns deep and even quickly, but it doesn’t last. He wakes seven times during the night, nightmares of the day’s events chasing after him. Kíli stays awake and keeps a constant vigil, soothes him back to sleep every time, silently thanking Aulë that his brother is safe and sound, if only a little haunted by the battle he has faced.

 

\------

 

He tosses and turns in his bed, as sleep continues to elude him. He’s _exhausted_ , and by all rights should have been asleep on his feet hours ago. With a sigh, he finally gives up, crawls out from under his furs and returns to their front room.

It’s been two days since Fíli and Thorin returned for the battle, and, though his brother was noticeably sad, most things had returned to normal. Everything seems normal except for _him_ , and he still feels mopey and confused.

 

He is a little surprised to see that Thorin is still up and sitting in their front room, watching the fire pensively. Something uncomfortable twists in his gut, and he finds himself longing for simpler times. He misses the sleepless nights where he would just crawl into his uncle’s lap, and how Thorin would sing to him and stroke his hair until he finally fell asleep. Now, he felt like Thorin couldn’t even look at him.

 

“You’re up late,” his uncle comments softly. “And you’ve seemed troubled these past few days.”

 

“Just can’t sleep,” he murmurs softly, reaching for the leather vambraces he’d yet to finish for his brother and settling down onto the settee, deciding that a bit of leatherwork might be enough to distract him from his negative thoughts. He doesn’t elaborate further, and pointedly ignores the questioning look his Uncle gives him.

 

“Are you well, lad?” he tries again. For a moment, Kíli thinks his uncle will get up from his own armchair and come to sit with him on the settee, but he stays where he is.

 

It makes him feel disappointed, but he quickly pushes it away.

 

“M’fine,” he says quietly, not looking up from the leather in his hands. “Just tired, is all.”

 

He chances a glance up and can see that Thorin is wholly unconvinced, but is relieved when he doesn’t press the issue. He has no desire to admit to his childish thoughts, no desire to be scolded for such things, or to be reminded of his place as Thorin’s second heir, as Balin often does.

 

Fíli shouts suddenly from their room, and both he and his uncle are on their feet, moving swiftly to check on him. His brother appears to be in the throes of a nightmare, kicking out around his sheets and fighting invisible demons. Thorin reaches him first, settles on the side of the bed and grasps his arms to keep him still, murmuring comforting words until he wakes. Fíli comes to with a sob, and Thorin leans down to press their foreheads together, strokes a hand down his cheek and pulls him close, soothing him as best as he can.

 

Kíli suddenly feels like an intruder, and that horrible jealous feeling pulls at him once again. Without a second thought, he finds himself fleeing from their home, out into the halls of the mountain.

 

\------

 

He is more than a little surprised when he enters the forge first thing in the morning and finds someone already there. Kíli is positioned at one of the anvils, diligently shaping a rather large cauldron, with an assortment of completed pots and pans sitting at the front table, ready to be picked up.

 

“Have you been here all night?” he asks, startling the lad who clearly hadn’t noticed his arrival. Kíli’s eyes are rimmed red and he looks exhausted, and in an instant Dwalin knows he’s been losing sleep again.

 

“Yea,” the lad admits. “Just…couldn’t sleep.”

 

He gives the boy an uncommonly soft smile. “Are you doing alright? I’d expect all this has brought up some old memories for you, laddie.”

 

“Yea; I’m…I’m fine,” he says, turning his focus back to his smithing. “It was bad the first day but it’s fine now.”

 

Dwalin frowns just slightly. “But there’s still something bothering you?” he prompts, sifting through the papers at the desk, choosing an axe to get started on.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Kíli deflects. “Just…something I want to talk to Fee about, but I don’t want to bother him with it right now.”

 

He pats the lad’s shoulder as he passes him and gets situated at his own anvil, noticing from the corner of his eye how Kíli’s breathing quickens and it almost looks like he’s fighting tears. Right. There is obviously _something_ wrong, and he will get it out of the lad somehow.

 

He’s mentally planning how to get the lad to open up when there’s a curse and a shout from beside him, followed by the loud clattering of the cauldron and a hammer hitting the floor. Kíli is crouched on the floor, cradling his hand to his chest.

 

“What happened?” he asks, quickly dropping to his knees beside the boy and reaching for his arm. He lets out a curse of his own when he sees the angry red welt blossoming across the lad’s palm. With a little more force than necessary, he hoists the lad up to his feet, pulling him to the washbasin and dunking the burned limb into the water.

 

Kíli lets out a sharp cry of pain and tries to pull his hand back, but Dwalin holds him firm. “M’sorry! It started to fall and I grabbed it without thinking and I’m…I’m so _stupid_! I’m sorry; I’m so sorry! I was just trying to help and I just…m’sorry,” he babbles out before dissolving entirely into tears.

 

“Hush, laddie,” Dwalin soothes gently. “We all make mistakes; it’s alright.” He pulls the lad’s hand from the water, before fetching a container of burn salve and slathering it on to his hand. He bandages it quickly, and by the time he’s finished, Kíli has cried himself out, and is leaning into his side, taking great, heaving breaths to calm himself back down.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, sounding so completely and utterly defeated that Dwalin feels it down to his very core.

 

“It’s alright, laddie,” he says, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Burned myself like that more times than I can count; it’s nothing to fret over.”

 

He feels the boy nod against his side, sniffling lightly as he brings his good hand up to his face to wipe it clean.

 

“You gonna tell me why you’ve been up all night making cookware and wound tight as can be?” Dwalin asks bluntly, but not completely able to keep the note of affection out of his voice. He truly expects the lad to shut him out – he’s always been better at getting his thoughts out to his uncle or Bofur – so he’s more than a bit surprised to hear the lad murmur something about Thorin under his breath.

 

“You what?” he asks, adjusting their positions so he can see Kili’s face better. Normally, lads at this age with tears in their eyes would be worthy of his scorn, but this is _Kíli_ , and he can’t find it in him to force him to toughen up.

 

“It’s just that…I mean, it’s dumb; I always knew he would but…but it’s just that…Uncle…” he stammers out, gaze sinking to his lap where he’s idly playing with the hem of his tunic. “I mean, he…he prefers Fíli over me, now. Used to it felt like we were…we were equals, I guess? But he can’t…he can’t even look at me anymore.” The lad sniffs again before shaking his head. “It’s like I’m not even there.”

 

Dwalin frowns, a hard crease forming between his brows. That doesn’t sound like the Thorin he knows _at all_ , but clearly there is something going on that he hadn’t seen, or that Thorin had not mentioned at all.

 

“I’m being childish; I know,” Kíli dejectedly murmurs a moment later.

 

Dwalin gives him a pat to the shoulder. “Good thing you’ve still got a few more years to _be_ a child before you’re grown,” he says, fond smile coloring his words. “But that doesn’t sound like your uncle; not one bit. He’d chase down the moon if it meant making you happy. There must be something else going on. You may just need to be patient with him.”

 

Kíli frowns, clearly unconvinced by his words, but nods anyway. “I guess,” he concedes.

 

“Now, when was the last time you slept?” he asks. “And don’t you lie to me boy, or you’ll get even more strength training sessions from me.”

 

Kíli ducks his head in embarrassment. “Three days,” he mumbles. “Since before you all came back.”

 

“How many times do I have to –“ Dwalin starts, clearly annoyed.

 

“Fee needed me,” Kíli explains quietly. “And then…then I started to think too much.”

 

Dwalin sighs before getting to his feet, pulling Kíli up to stand with him. “Come on; there’s that big armchair in the back. I like to use it for naps, but I think you need it a bit more than me, laddie.” The way Kíli sways in his steps tells him that he’ll probably fall asleep in minutes, the physical exhaustion from his work in the forge and the emotional exhaustion of his crying fit seem to have caught up with him.

 

He’s right, as Kíli is curled up in the armchair and fast asleep before he can even close the door.

 

\------

 

He feels more rested than he has in _weeks_. The cots in the barracks had been terribly uncomfortable, and there were always the sounds of the other patrolmen snoring or laughing or drinking to contend with. With a contented groan, he stretches his arms above his head, relishing the way his body seems to open up and feel _normal_ for the first time in so long.

 

His nightmares must not have been that bad, then.

 

He glances over to his brother’s bed, frowning when he sees his uncle sprawled out across it instead.

 

“Uncle?” he calls, feeling a tiny prickle of guilt gnaws at him at the way his elder snaps awake.

 

“Fíli,” he replies, sounding wholly relieved. “How are you feeling this morning?”

 

“Better,” he answers. “I’m sorry if I woke you and Kíli again.”

 

Thorin just shakes his head. “Nonsense,” he murmurs. “We were both up already when your dream started.”

 

Fíli frowns at that. “You mean Kíli didn’t sleep last night either?”

 

Thorin shakes his head. “Well, I suspect he ventured back into the front room, since I appear to have stolen his bed. Has he not been sleeping?”

 

“No,” Fíli murmurs as he pushes his furs off and starts to get ready for the day. “I kept him up the whole first night, before you were home, and he told me he couldn’t fall asleep the night after that.”

 

“I had thought something was amiss with him,” Thorin says softly. “He did not want to talk about it, though.”

 

“He said he was feeling really stressed out,” Fíli confesses. “Like he felt a lot of pressure to…oh, it’s not my place. I’ll tell him to talk to you.” Thorin frowns a bit at this, but it’s more important to him to respect his brother’s privacy. “I’ll make breakfast today, to give him a break.”

 

Thorin nods, and they depart the bedroom and venture to the front room, finding it strangely devoid of any signs of Kíli’s presence. The fire has burned down to embers in the hearth, and none of the blankets on either the settee or the armchair have been disturbed.

 

“Perhaps he went to my room?” Thorin offers, but he looks just as worried as Fíli suddenly feels. He disappears back down the hallway, telling Fíli to go ahead and start preparing breakfast while he rouses him.

 

When he returns a moment later, looking visibly stricken, the worry Fíli feels escalates into full-blown panic.

 

“He’s not here.”

 

“What do you _mean_?” he cries out, alarmed. “Where else would he be?”

 

“Fíli, relax,” Thorin says, raising his arms in surrender. “I am sure you’re worrying over nothing. He may have gone to market to fetch some breakfast, or to the forge; I asked him if he would finish some tasks for me today.”

 

“I need to know where he is,” Fíli answers. “You may be right, I may be needlessly worrying, but I need to know where he is,” he explains as he rushes back to his room, pulling on the first pair of trousers and tunic that he can find, before returning to the front room to lace up his boots.

 

“Fíli, you should rest,” Thorin interrupts, placing a heavy hand on his arm. “He will be home soon.”

 

“You don’t _get_ it!” he snaps as he wrenches free from his uncle’s light grip. “He’s spent the last three days taking care of me – of _us_ – and taking all of the extra responsibility you’ve given him and working so, so hard but he’s _hurt_ because you can’t even _look_ at him anymore!” he snaps, not wanting to put all of Kíli’s concerns out there, but too bothered by his uncle’s flippancy about his disappearance to care.

 

“He…what?” Thorin stammers, clearly taken aback.

 

“You don’t...it’s like you’ve cast him aside. You avoid looking at him and you won’t touch him and you’ve pushed him away and he _hurts_ because of it, Uncle!” Fíli continues. “The only reason he works so damn hard all the time is for _you_! So that you will notice him again, clap your hand on his shoulder again…that you’ll _be there_ for him again!”

 

Thorin stares at him, open-mouthed. “He…I am simply trying to treat him as I treat you, to help him grow up. For him to be seen receiving such coddling would make others see him as weak, label him as a target. He has responsibilities – you _both_ do – you are _princes_ –“

 

Fíli scoffs at that. “Princes of _what_?” he bites out, unthinking.

 

It’s suddenly like the world moves in slow motion, like he can physically see the words as they leave his mouth and strike his uncle straight in the heart. He’s never seen Thorin’s face positively crumple like that, never seen his uncle look so completely broken before. In an instant, all of his anger dissipates.

 

“Uncle,” he murmurs with a huff. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean it like that. I-“

 

“No,” Thorin interrupts, looking downtrodden. “You meant it. And you ought to. But I swear to you this, Fíli; you – and your brother – will have your rightful kingdom. You will live the life you were destined to. I will see it done.”

 

If they’re able to reclaim Erebor, Fíli wonders if he even wants it. He doesn’t dare say that out loud, simply nods in acceptance of their Uncle’s words.

 

“And if it is as you say, that Kíli is aiming to please _me_ ,” he continues, “I will bet he spent the night in the forge. I will fetch him, since it appears that he has a grievance with me.”

 

A tiny prickle of worry rushes over his skin. “Don’t be cross with him,” he whispers as Thorin tugs on his own boots and makes his way to the door. “You’re…you’re all he has. He just wants you to be proud of him.”

 

“And I have failed him,” Thorin murmurs. “I have failed him if he doesn’t know that I am.”

 

\------

 

“I know, I know,” Thorin grumbles at the harsh glare Dwalin gives him the second he steps foot into the forge. “Just _please_ tell me he is here.”

 

“In the back, sleeping,” Dwalin grumbles. “You mind telling me exactly what’s going on? Not that I don’t mind coming in to seeing an entire set of cookware completed, but I’d rather than boy be _happy_.”

 

Thorin looks behind him, eyeing the aforementioned cookware. “He made all of that?”

 

Dwalin nods. “Aye; it wasn’t here when I left last night, and he was finishing this cauldron when I came in this morning,” he explains. “Burned his hand, though. Too busy trying to figure out why you favor Fíli over him to focus on his work.”

 

“ _What_?” he has to gasp. “Surely he cannot think…”

 

“What’s gotten in to you, anyhow? Now that he mentioned it, I can’t remember the last time I saw you give him any sort of affection,” his old friend continues.

 

“Balin suggested that I-“ he starts, but is cut off by a rough snort of laughter from his old friend.

 

“No. _No_ , you’ll not be taking any advice from Balin on how to raise dwarflings,” he snaps, speaking uncharacteristically harshly about his brother. “He may be a genius when it comes to diplomacy, but he has no _clue_ how to take care of others.”

 

“He took care of you,” Thorin points out.

 

Dwalin shook his head. “Your Da took care of me; of both of us. Balin shut down, shut me out for years so I could _grow up_ ,” he explains. “Now I know my brother, and I know his heart is in the right place, but Thorin…does it _feel_ right to put that distance between you?”

 

He sighs and shakes his head.

 

“Then it’s _not_.”

 

“But he has a good point,” Thorin retaliates. “There are many who would like to see Erebor fall completely to ruin. There are many who could take my affection for him, for both of them, and use it to be my undoing.”

 

“I won’t let them,” Dwalin murmurs. “I love those boys, Thorin. I would die before I would see either of them fall.”

 

“I cannot ask you to –“

 

Dwalin scoffs again, but gives him a wry smile. “You don’t have a choice, Thorin. I mean it.”

 

“Thank you, my friend,” he murmurs quietly.

 

“Don’t mention it,” the warrior says easily. “Just get in there and hug that boy and tell him you love him, before he makes himself crazy thinking you don’t.”

 

Thorin doesn’t hesitate; he immediately presses back into the small break room they’d added to the forge several years ago. Kíli looks so small and worn from where he is curled up on the armchair, and it tears at Thorin’s heart to know that he’s caused the lad such distress once again.

 

He almost doesn’t want to wake him. With a sigh, he kneels next to the armchair, tentatively reaching out to brush some unruly chocolate strands from his face. Kíli’s brow furrows just slightly, and it’s just a second later that he opens his eyes.

 

Recognition dawns in them, and he flinches away.

 

“Uncle,” he murmurs, hastily pulling himself up into a sitting position, mindful of his burned hand. “M’sorry. I can still work; I’ll finish the rest. I promise.”

 

“Hush,” Thorin murmurs, before grabbing him and pulling him tight against his chest, one hand carding through his hair and the other squeezing him as tight as he dares.

 

He can hear Kíli’s gasp of disbelief, _feels_ it as he sags completely into his embrace, his good hand grabbing at the front of his tunic and holding it tight. He can’t _remember_ the last time he held the lad so close, and he _hates_ himself for thinking that pushing Kíli away would do him any good. Hadn’t he told as much to Fíli so many years ago?

 

“Uncle,” Kíli murmurs around a sob, burrowing ever closer to him. Thorin is contented to just _hold_ him, lets Kíli soak up all the strength that he needs from him. He’s forgotten just how much like Frerin his little nephew has become, how much he _needs_ the physical reassurance of touch.

 

“Look at me,” Thorin demands a moment later, shifting his embrace so that he can look Kíli in the face. He hates that his nephew looks so unsure of himself, hates that he has let this distance grown between them. “You’ll do no more work this week, do you understand me? You’ve done so much – _I_ ask too much of you,” he explains.

 

Kíli shakes his head. “But we’re behind, and you said –“

 

“We will manage; I swear it. I need you to rest,” he murmurs. “Dwalin and I will take care of everything else.”

 

Finally, Kíli nods, and Thorin leans forward to press their foreheads together.

“I am sorry,” he murmurs, voice thickened with emotion. “I do not say it enough that I am so, so proud of you, my boy,” he whispers. “You are growing into a fine young dwarf, brave and kind…and I do so often take you for granted.”

 

“Uncle, it’s okay –“

 

“No,” he interrupts. “No; it’s not okay. Lineage aside, you are my _son_. I have raised you from your first breaths, and it should be _me_ who shows you love first, it should be _me_ who cheers the loudest for you and I’ve…I’ve sent that responsibility on to your brother. I’ve not taken care of _you_ because I’d asked someone else to.”

 

Kíli stares at him, wide-eyed at his confession.

 

“I’ve not done right by either of you, and I would promise to be better, but I don’t know if I can,” he admits. “But know this, Kíli, _please_ , know that I love you, you _and_ your brother, more than all of the gold on this earth, more than Erebor, more than _anything_. Even when I do not show it.”

 

Kíli nods, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he throws his arms around his uncle. “I know,” he whispers. “I know; I won’t forget.”

 

\------

 

“Where did you receive this report from?” Thorin asks late that evening, after a long day of getting things sorted with Balin regarding his forthcoming treatment of his sister-sons.

 

“From one of the scouts we sent to Bree,” the older dwarf explains. “Thorin, I know what this looks like, but it could be a trap.”

 

“Or it could be true,” he petulantly replies. “It could be my father. He may yet be alive.”

 

Balin shakes his head. “I have a terrible feeling about this, Thorin. You cannot just up and leave.”

 

“Nor cannot ignore the possibility of my _father_ being so close,” he snaps. “I will…the boys will understand. I must go. I must see if this is true.”

 

“What about the quest?” Balin tries, desperate to talk him out of this mission to track down the dwarf that supposedly resembled his father.

 

“Continue to plan in my stead,” Thorin answers easily. “I will send for Gandalf. I must see this through, Balin. If he is alive…if my father is alive, I must bring him home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that’s all, folks.


	19. Sixty-Four and Fifty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Hey-o, this one's a doozy. Lots of brotherly love abounds, and lots of FEELLLSSSS. I hope you all like this one. I actually didn't plan on this chapter, but it came to me in a dream.
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Battle scenes, mildly graphic description of death, mild violence/gore, mentions of slavery and abduction. Talk about babies being soul bonded (but remember that this will not become Durincest), Uncle Dwalin saves the day again!

Fíli sighs happily, grateful for the warmth of the sun on his face, of the freshness of the cool autumn air as it fills his lungs. He's been cooped up inside for far too long, acting as the head of the settlement in Thorin's stead, though he was under Balin's constant guidance and supervision. It had been a little over a year since Thorin had suddenly up and left to search for his father, chasing rumors and reports received from all corners of the earth, and both he and his brother felt his absence keenly.

"I don't know how Uncle does it," he grumbles slightly, nudging Kíli's shoulder with his own as they walk through the forest. "I can't stand to be inside all day. Most of the time it feels like my head is so full it will explode."

His little brother hums in agreement. "S'why I spend all summer and autumn outside," he murmurs. "Well, as much of it as I can manage."

Fíli laughs softly. "You spend half the winter outside as well," he comments dryly. "Not that I'm complaining though. Especially when you manage to bring home an elk."

Kíli gives him an impish grin, standing a bit straighter at his brother's praise. In the distance, Dwalin is waiting for them, having taken the initiative to leave at first light to set up a camp for their brief hunting outing. Normally, Kíli would have left with him, and Fíli would have joined later on, after his morning session with Balin, but the warrior was insistent that neither of them travels alone. Kíli had complained about Dwalin's constant hovering, but Fíli could understand why the old warrior was being so cautious. Last time Thorin had left the settlement for an extended period of time, Kíli had nearly  _died_. In truth, Fíli found himself grateful that they were under near constant supervision.

"Come on, lads," Dwalin says as soon as they are within earshot. "There's two boar roaming around here; we should be able to get at least one of them."

They set off on the trail, following the signs of the boar for a mile or so, before Kíli suddenly stops and stands up straighter, looking to the east and away from the boar's trail. "Do you hear that?" he asks, brow furrowed in concentration.

Fíli and Dwalin cast each other speculative looks, falling silent and listening closely. Dwalin shrugs, and Fíli is about to shake his head when he hears it - the distant sound of shouting.

Kíli veers off from the course, following his ears swiftly, moving almost silently through the underbrush of the forest. Fíli and Dwalin follow him, though they are quite a bit slower, as they are trying to move as silently as possible. Abruptly, Kíli stops, and Fíli sees why. There's a rather large encampment ahead of them, with several dozen men milling about. There are a multitude of others sitting about, shackles on their wrists, and chains leading away from them. He's only ever seen such restraints on criminals, but these people don't  _look_  like criminals. In fact...they're all dwarrow, a lot of them dwarrowdams and dwarflings.

"What is this?" he utters, shocked.

Dwalin curses under his breath. "Slave traders."

" _What?!_ " Kíli whisper-shouts. "But there's...there's so many children...how can they...how?"

They've only ever heard of slavery from Balin's lessons, as Thorin had resolutely refused to engage in such a practice. In fact, none of Durin's line had owned slaves in living memory, so it was hard for him to grasp that it still existed. "Where are they taking them?" he asks, reaching forward to place a comforting hand on his brother's arm. He can feel how tense Kíli is, how  _distressed_  his brother has become, but Kíli had always been far more empathetic than most.

"Hard to say," Dwalin answers, anger burning quietly in his eyes. "The nerve of those men; thinking they can  _own_  us…"

"We have to do something," Kíli says suddenly. "We have to help them." He turns imploring eyes to his brother and weapons master, begging them to agree.

Dwalin eyes the men, frowning hard. "They're too well-armed, and who knows how many of them there are," he says, shaking his head at Kíli. "It's too much for the three of us to manage; it'd be suicide."

"So we go home and get help," Kíli pleads, and then it's Fíli who shakes his head.

"We would...we would need approval from Balin first, to bring the patrol in," he explains, sadness tainting his voice as he realizes they would be fighting a losing battle. "He'd never agree to it, to risking lives of our own to save them. And we don't have the resources or the room to house them…"

"But it's the  _right_  thing to do!" Kíli whisper-shouts, barely managing to keep his voice down. "Fee…"

"He's right," Fíli says, turning to look at Dwalin. "We have to at least try."

Dwalin frowns, but nods anyway. "I think you're right though, laddie. With winter coming...I don't know that we'll have the resources to spare." He pats Kíli's shoulder comfortingly, as if in an apology. "Come on, lads."

Kíli shakes his head, clearly reluctant to leave, but Fíli reaches for his arm and pulls him away gently. "Shouldn't…shouldn't someone stay? And keep an eye on things? What if...what if they leave?"

Dwalin looks back toward the encampment, and his eyes widen. "Lads, get  _down_!" he hisses, grabbing at both of their arms and pulling them down into the underbrush. Not a moment later, they hear the heavy tread of boots coming closer.

"Take that one out in the woods and kill it!" one of the men in the distance sneers, laughter evident in his voice. "Sickly thing like that won't get us any coin at all."

The man passes right by them, chuckling as he does, dragging a young dwarfling behind him. At the notion of his  _own_  death, the dwarfling begins to struggle wildly, kicking and crying out in his attempt to escape. The man pauses not far from them, though he has moved quite a bit away from their camp, tossing the dwarfling to the ground. The lad tries desperately to get up, but the man kicks him hard in the chest, sending him back down to the ground.

To his right, Fíli sees that Kíli is reaching for an arrow, stealthily adjusting himself in the underbrush to remain hidden while he draws his bow. He knows,  _knows_  that Kíli is about to be something ridiculously stupid and reckless, something that could get them all _killed_.

"Kee,  _don't_!" he hisses under his breath, desperate to not be heard. Dwalin makes a mad grab at his brother from his other side, but he's just too far away, and barely manages to graze his boot. Fíli curses under his breath, quickly grabbing the throwing axe stowed in his boot to prepare himself as the man pulls out a dagger and advances on the cowering dwarfling.

Fíli hesitates, just as Kíli pulls back on his bow. The encampment is close...if those men catch them...well, they'd have three more dwarrow on their line, if any of them survives that long. The dwarfling cries out once again, and it sounds so,  _so_  similar to how Kíli had when he was much younger...

He doesn't even realize that Kíli has let the arrow fly until the man sputters and falls to his knees, bolt of an arrow lodged firmly in his neck. Behind him, Dwalin curses, but they both quickly spring into action. Fíli pulls his axe, springs forward with deadly accuracy and gruesomely finishes what Kíli started, dragging the axe along the man's throat and ending his life, while Kíli jumps on the dwarfling, covering him from the sight and placing a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound when he cries out in surprise.

"Hurry up lads," Dwalin hisses, eyes on the encampment, watching for any suspicious movements and covering their backs.

"Shh," Kíli murmurs, pulling the dwarfling up into his arms. "We're here to help you. We're taking you somewhere safe." The dwarfling's big blue eyes are terrified and filled with tears, but he nods in acceptance of Kíli's words, then burrows his face into the crook of his neck with a sob. His brother looks back at him with a nod, and they take off swiftly into the woods, hugging the underbrush as closely as possible, with Dwalin keeping a constant watch behind them.

The men don't appear to notice, and it doesn't seem like anyone follows them, but Fíli doesn't dare breathe a sigh of relief until the walls of the settlement come into view, and they are safely inside them. His mind is whirring; their quick hunting outing had rapidly turned into something more. And Kíli was right. They had to do  _something_.

Kíli sinks down to his knees and sets the terrified dwarfling down on the ground to look him over. He's  _covered_  in bruises; his wrists are rubbed red and raw from the chains that once bound him. He has tears streaming down his face, leaving clear tracks on the dirtied skin. He has blue, blue eyes, even brighter than their Uncle's and mussed auburn hair, with just a slight dusting of stubble on his chin.

"Are you alright?" Fíli asks, kneeling down next to his brother and the dwarfling. "Are you hurt anywhere?" He reaches forward to brush some of the stray locks from the lad's face, but the dwarfling flinches away and cowers closer to Kíli.

"It's alright; you're safe now," Kíli murmurs calmly, and when he reaches a hand up to stroke the lad's hair, he doesn't startle. "No one will hurt you here. This is Fíli; he's my brother. My name is Kíli. What's your name?"

The boy just shakes his head, disheveled hair falling back into his face, and curls closer to Kíli's chest with a sob.

"You lads should get him to the healers," Dwalin says, still breathing heavily from their sprint through the woods. "I will go and speak with Balin about the slavers and tell him that we should keep a close eye on the wall. Just in case."

Kíli nods again, and Fíli watches as his brother carefully gathers the little dwarfling back into his arms, tucking his head tightly under his chin. In truth he feels more than a little useless; the dwarfling seems afraid of him, but he appears to trust Kíli. He wonders if he will only make the child even more uncomfortable if he accompanies them to the houses of healing.

"I'll come with you," he says to Dwalin, standing just as the warrior prepares to depart. "I'm sure Mister Balin will need a lot of convincing if we are to get him to do this."

Kíli gives him a small smile. "Thank you," he murmurs. "Please, Fíli. We have to help them. You have to make him see that."

He can only nod as he attempts to swallow down the lump in his throat, following off behind Dwalin without a second glance.

"It should go without saying that I'll be punishing the  _both_  of you for that stunt later on," the warrior murmurs. "I know you lads have you hearts in the right place, but if you're not careful, you'll get yourselves killed."

Fíli sighs and nods. "This is...this is why I hate that he's the spare," Fíli whispers once they're far enough away from Kíli that he doesn't think they'll be heard. "He nearly got himself killed for a dwarfling he doesn't even know. If it were me, or Uncle, or  _you_  or Bofur or  _anyone_  he actually cared about he wouldn't have hesitated at all. Not a bit."

"I know," Dwalin says quietly, voice somber and almost regretful. "And I've no idea how to train that out of him."

* * *

Kíli sinks back into the armchair in the house of healing, as he begins to feel the exhaustion settle into his bones while he anxiously awaits Balin's decision regarding the slave traders. The little dwarfling was considerably calmer, having been looked over by Oin and given some herbal tea to help him relax and to soothe him after his ordeal. His injuries hadn't been too bad - he'd suffered several cracked ribs from the man's rough treatment, and the skin of his wrists had been torn and infect from the chains they once bore.

"Lobruk," the dwarfling murmurs sleepily as he settles into the furs atop his cot. "You asked my name before," he clarifies at Kíli's bewildered expression. "I...thank you. For saving me."

Kíli gives him a small smile, genuinely happy that they had been able to help.

"Are you gonna save my Mama too?"

His blood turns to ice in his veins. He regards the lad once more, who looks so small and frail under the furs, eyes impossibly bright with unshed tears.

"They killed Papa a long time ago, but Mama's still there," he murmurs, tears spilling when he blinks.

He swallows down the lump that has welled up in his throat. "I'll try," he promises, not trusting himself to elaborate any further. The dwarfling - _Lobruk_  - seems contented with his answer, the barest hint of a smile tugging the corners of his mouth as he snuggles deeper into the furs, heavy eyelids finally falling shut.

Kíli's stomach has turned to lead. He sits, unmoving and scarcely able to breathe, until he is positively certain that the lad is well and truly asleep, before he all but sprints to the settlement's Town Hall.

The door pulls open just as he reaches it, revealing a rather livid looking Fíli and an exhausted Dwalin.

"Fee…" he calls, hesitantly. "Did he…?"

"No," Fíli snaps. "He said no, Kíli."

He cannot help the undignified wail that escapes him. " _Why_? How can he…"

"There's nowhere for them to go, laddie," Dwalin mutters, and from the fatigue in his voice Kíli  _knows_  that he fought hard for him. "We'd barely be able to keep them fed. We can't help them. As bad as it is to say...they're better off where they are," he explains, though he sounds utterly remorseful.

Kíli pushes past them with a frustrated noise, ignoring it when Fíli yells out to him to stop, heading straight into Balin's office, without even taking the courtesy to knock before he slams the door open. His tutor looks up as he's startled, but then his face pinches into an expression of annoyance.

"My decision is final, laddie," he says easily, turning his attention back to the papers on his desk with a sigh.

"You'd let them all  _die_?" he accuses, jerking out of his brother's grip when Fíli grabs his shoulder to pull him away. "That's what you're doing! We could  _help_  them, we could  _save_  them and you're just going to leave them there?"

"Save them for what?" Balin snaps, rising up from his chair and slamming his hands down on the desk. "To starve to death when we run out of food? To freeze during the winter? We don't have the means to support them if we could, and I will not risk the lives of our patrolmen for a few measly slaves."

Kíli jaw drops in surprise, and Fíli successfully grabs him to start pulling him back. "Come on, nadadith. He's  _right_. As awful as it is, he's right."

"They're  _not_  just slaves," Kíli snaps as his brother pulls him away, blinking rapidly to clear the tears that suddenly blur his vision. "They're  _people_. They're  _our_  people. They're not property! They don't deserve to be…to be  _owned_. Mister Balin,  _please_!"

" _Our_  people are the ones who live inside these walls!" Balin snaps, uncharacteristically angry. "And until  _you_  are ready to take responsibility for any blood that may be spilled by  _our_  people in a folly attempt to free those slaves, you will be  _silent_. I'll not have blood on my hands, not for  _you_. You've given me enough of a mess with that dwarfling. Know your  _place_."

His words sting, as they were meant to, and Kíli falls silent and lets Fíli pull him away. "Come on, Kee," he murmurs as he wraps an arm around his shoulders. "You did what you could, okay? You saved that dwarfling and that's all you can do."

Kíli twists from his grip, tears pooling in his eyes once more. "But his  _mum_ , Fee. His mum is still there and he doesn't...he doesn't  _deserve_  that, nadad," he chokes out with a sob. " _You_  didn't deserve that and neither does he."

"Oh, nadadith," Fíli murmurs, reaching out to cup his cheek, thumb tracing over skin. The skin around Fíli's eyes is reddening just a bit, a telltale sign that he is fighting tears of his own. "Kee," he whispers as he presses their foreheads together.

"I have to help him," he whispers softly, hiccupping around a sob. "He doesn't deserve it…"

"Shh, Kíli," his brother murmurs as he brings a hand around to the back of his neck, squeezing gently to soothe him. "You  _can't_...Kíli,  _look_  at me," he demands when his eyes sink down to the floor. "You can't make yourself responsible for this. You  _can't_. You did everything you could. _Everything_."

"I could fight. I could go back out there and -"

" _No_ ," Fíli snaps. "No. Those men would catch you. They would  _kill_  you. They would…" Fíli blinks, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. "They would take you away from me.  _Please_ , nadadith; I can bear living without Mum and Da but not without  _you_."

"Fee," he whispers, mindful of how badly his brother is trembling.

"Promise me," he demands. "Promise me you won't."

"I won't," he murmurs. "I won't, Fee; I promise."

* * *

Kíli sulks for three days straight. Dwalin had deemed it fit to punish them with the gathering and chopping of firewood to be distributed throughout the settlement in preparation of the coming winter. It was long and backbreaking work, but Fíli welcomed it. It helped him take his mind of off what had transpired, off of the little dwarfling who still rested and healed within the walls of the settlement. But for all the relaxation Fíli feels, Kíli only seems to smolder.

Fíli had made him apologize to Balin the day after, which his brother had done through gritted teeth. He'd not even been able to look their tutor in the eye, not for all of the anger he felt.

And Fíli understood, truly he did. Kíli had always loved too much and too deeply, had always cared far more about others than himself, and it continued to burn him that he had no choice but to sit quietly while he knew others suffered. But he knew it was for the best.  _If_  they had gone out on patrol and any of their patrolmen would have perished, Kíli would have blamed himself. If any of the rescued dwarrow didn't make it through the winter, Kíli would have blamed himself. While it was awful to see his brother suffering so, it really was for the best. Time would heal this hurt for his brother, and all would be well in the end.

It also helped that Thorin was due to return before the winter, and that would lighten his brother's heart considerably.

"Should we go a little farther out?" he asks, surveying the land in front of them. They usually only took wood from felled trees, in an effort to keep from scaring off the wildlife, and there weren't too many left this close to the settlement. Besides, the fresh air seems to be brightening his spirits significantly, and he was sure it wouldn't hurt to spend a little more time outside.

Kíli gives him a small smile - not nearly as bright as Fíli is used to, but it's a  _genuine_  one at least - and nods in agreement. "Might be able to snag some rabbits too," he adds, clearly in better spirits to be able to do something more useful. "But not too far out," he murmurs. "Mister Dwalin said. And I don't like that he's still cross with us."

It was true. Half of Kíli's sulking was probably due to Dwalin being angry with them. Kíli had always been a bit of a people-pleaser (not that he was any different himself), and he was sure it grated on his nerves for their weapons master to be so furious.

"Yea," Fíli agrees. "Who knows what new chore he'll think up for us to do."

That pulls another wane smile from his brother, and they head deeper into the forest in a comfortable silence, Kíli dragging the cart they'd brought to help carry the wood back to the settlement. The find a suitable tree relatively quickly, and set to work chopping it down into firewood.

They've been at it for a couple of hours when they hear it, causing both of them to snap up in alarm.

The warning bells are chiming in the settlement.

When he turns to his brother, his blood runs cold at the sight of a man, one of the men they'd seen with the slave caravan, looming behind him. He isn't even able to get a warning out when the man raises his arm and slams his elbow into the back of his brother's head, causing him to slump to the ground, unconscious.

"Kíli!" he screams, frantic as the man yanks his brother up by his arm, yanking the throwing knife from his vambrace and preparing to throw it, hesitating for just a second out of fear of hitting Kíli instead. He misses his chance, as another man, one who had snuck up on him, grabs him by the arm and throws him down to the ground, before jumping on him to pin him down. He fights back voraciously, kicking up to flip them back over. He raises his arm to go for the man's throat, but the man grabs at his arm, pushing his hand back and keeping him from attacking. With a snarl, Fíli drops the knife and wrenches his arm free, reaching back to grasp one of his swords instead as he springs back to his feet, straddling the man. With lethal accuracy, he drives his sword straight into the man's chest, relishing in the gurgle of blood that resounds when he yanks his sword free.

He turns back around to come to Kíli's aid, but he cannot see the man or his brother. "Kíli!" he screams, panicked. He has to find him,  _has_  to! He was the one who suggested they go farther out; he'd been so stupid,  _stupid_! "Nadadith!"

He has to find their trail. The man was  _dragging_  him, there  _had_  to be a trail! He lets out a frustrated howl when he cannot find it, curses himself for not throwing his knife when he had the chance. He takes off running in the direction he thinks they must have gone, heedless of any danger. He has to find his brother; he  _has_  to.

This is  _his_  fault. It's all his fault.

The dull roar of hooves behind him puts him on full alert, and he pulls his other sword, ready to face his attackers. Relief crashes over him when he sees that it is the settlement patrol, led by Gloin and Dwalin. Dwalin drops off of his pony as soon as he's close enough to.

"The scouts saw the slave traders wandering too close to the wall," he explains, grabbing the back of Fíli's neck and squeezing gently. "Where is your brother?"

Fíli can't speak around the rough sob that escapes him. He hadn't realized he was crying before, but he's all too aware of it now. Dwalin presses their foreheads together.

"Breathe, lad," he urges. "Tell me what happened."

He takes in a shuddering breath. "They took him," he grinds out, voice hoarse. "The...two men snuck up on us and...and I killed one of them...but...but they...he knocked Kee out and took him away and I can't  _find_  him…"

Dwalin pulls away from him to give a curt nod to Gloin, and he's dimly aware of orders being barked all around him. "And you kill every last one of them and bring our  _prince_  home," Dwalin snaps, voice full of something he can't really identify. He hears the ponies take off once more, and then it's just him and Dwalin left behind. He becomes aware of his ragged, frantic breathing and the almost violent trembling in his limbs, and at Dwalin's gentle insistence, focuses on getting himself back under control.

"Come on, lad;  _breathe_ ," his weapons master urges. "You've got to get a hold on yourself if you're going to help him, alright?"

Fíli nods, and after several long moments is able to calm himself substantially. "I'll kill them," he swears. "I'll kill every last one of them for touching my brother."

"Aye," Dwalin agrees. "Every last one of them."

* * *

He comes to all at once, drug back into consciousness with the stabbing pain in his head. With a sharp cry he lifts his hand up to check for a wound, and is alarmed to find his wrists shackled together. The last thing he remembered was gathering wood with his brother…

And the bells. He sits up sharply, the sudden movement causing the pain in his head to intensify violently.

"Shh, little one," someone murmurs nearby in Khuzdul, and a cool cloth is pressed against his forehead. "Don't move so quickly."

He tries to crack his eyes open, but it's too bright and he is forced the squeeze them closed once more. "Where are…"

"Khuzdul," the voice interrupts him sharply. "So they don't know what we are saying. Only speak in common if you must."

"Where are we?" he asks in the correct language, slowly blinking his eyes open in an attempt to adjust them to the light.

"Somewhere in the Blue Mountains," the voice answers - a dwarrowdam, he realizes. "I heard them speaking of taking us to a town called Fairfield to sell us."

He frowns, finally manages to open his eyes just a sliver, taking in the auburn haired dwarrowdam that sits near him, hands and feet shackled just as his are. Her hair and beard are messy and unbraided, and she looks tired and worn, though somehow familiar. "Sell us?" They are sitting on the ground, in a clearing outside of the forest. There are several wagons about, and at least a dozen men that he can see standing guard. He can see twenty or so dwarrow, chained at the wrists and ankles just like he is, all of them looking thin and frail.

She gives him a small, sympathetic smile. "They're slave traders, darling. They steal us from our homes and lock us away, slaughter our children, then sell us so we can wait on some men hand and foot…" Her words trail off into a variety of angry curses.

"We have to escape," he mutters, testing the movement of his hands before grasping at his boot to find his knife. He curses under his breath when he finds it's not there.

The dwarrowdam gives him another sympathetic smile. "They took all your effects, little one," she murmurs sadly. "No one escapes from here, not unless they die."

He shakes his head, groaning softly when it throbs viciously once more. "No, my brother will come for me…"

"He'd be one dwarf against nearly twenty men," she says. "It would be better if he didn't."

"No, there's…there's a settlement near here," he whispers, mindful of prying ears. "That's where I'm from. We have a patrol...and scouts...they sounded the alarm before I was taken...and they...they'll come for me," he murmurs, but suddenly, he wonders if they  _will_. Him being captured doesn't mean that Balin's decision will change...they still wouldn't be able to care for all of the rescued dwarrow. A leaden stone settles down into his stomach as doubt fills him. They might not come...Fíli would fight for him, but they might not answer.

"Oh, sweetheart," she murmurs softly. "They won't be so hard on you. You're young and fair...you'll fetch a fine price as you are, so they won't treat you so badly."

He shakes his head, his throat constricting as he feels the tears coming as the reality of the situation comes crashing down on him. The dwarrowdam reaches her hands out and pats his thigh comfortingly.

"I shouldn't say such things," she murmurs softly. "Your people may come for you. I should not let you give up hope. My son...my son always held on to hope. And then they...they killed him. And in the days since I've found myself unable to hope for anything other than our reunion in Mandos."

At the mention of her son, Kíli's brow furrows. "Lobruk," he mumbles absently, suddenly realizing how she seemed familiar.

Her head snaps up and her eyes brighten just the tiniest bit. "How do you know his name?"

"I...my brother and I were on a hunt and this...man came and was dragging a dwarfling with him and they told him to kill it and I couldn't...we couldn't just  _sit_  there…" he whispers out in a rush, mindful of how one of the men has focused his attention on them with narrowed eyes.

"He's alive?" she gasps out, clearly not letting herself believe him just yet, not wanting to give in to hope just yet. When he nods, her eyes fill with tears. "How is he? Is he well?" A genuine, bright smile splits her face wide, relief and hope evident in her face.

He nods once more. "He misses you," he murmurs softly.

Unexpectedly, she throws her arms around him, looping her bound wrists over his head and pulls him close. "Thank you; thank you," she cries over and over.

"'Ey!" the man who'd been eying them shouts in the common tongue, before giving them both a swift kick in the sides that leaves them gasping for air as she pulls away. "Keep your mouths quiet and hands off!" He kicks Kíli a second time in the back for good measure before stalking back off to his post.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Just...thank you. Thank you for saving my boy."

Kíli only manages to nod as he pulls himself back up to a sitting position and catches his breath. They sit in silence from then on out, as the men nearby on watch keep a constant eye on them. As the sun starts to set, and the night chill blows in, Kíli pulls his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around them in an attempt to keep warm. Most of the men have abandoned their posts in favor of dinner and a warm fire when he hears the owls.

Twice a barn owl, once a brown owl.

His breath catches in his throat. It could just be a coincidence. He doesn't dare let himself hope…

Twice a barn owl, once a brown owl.

Relief floods him.  _Fíli_. Its the signal they'd come up with as children, most often used late at night when they were both supposed to be sleeping and wanted to know if the other was awake, or while hunting to make sure that Kíli knew where his brother was before he dared take a shot. "They're coming," he whispers harshly, watching as the dwarrowdam's eyes widen.

Suddenly, dwarrow burst from the tree line, fearsome battle cries ringing out deafeningly around them. The men are clearly caught off guard, and most of them have to scramble for their weapons. He spies Dwalin and Gloin leading the charge, and between the pair of them they take down at least five men in a matter of seconds. There's chaos everywhere, and he makes an attempt to get to his feet, mindful of the chains that don't let him move too quickly.

One of the men rushes toward him, grabbing the dwarrowdam with one hand and reaching for him with another. He manages to dodge it, taking advantage of his small size and agility, but the man spits a curse at him and kicks out at his legs, sending him toppling down to the ground once more. With a snarl, he throws the dwarrowdam to the ground before drawing a knife from his belt and advancing upon him with a menacing snarl.

"Coming for you, are they?" he growls. "See how they like it when they find you dead."

Panic grips at him; he's going to  _die_  here.

Then a sword breaks through the man's chest and he coughs blood. Kíli barely has the time to scoot out of the way before he slumps forward, dead. Fíli stands behind him, and he sobs in relief.

His brother doesn't hesitate to free him of his bonds, using his sword to break the chains between his hands and feet, before handing the other sword to him. "Can you fight?" he asks, voice strong and face impassive, but Kíli can see the storm brewing in his eyes. He's clearly relieved at finding his brother, but they  _both_  still need to survive this.

He nods shakily, and takes Fíli's other sword. Quickly, he wraps a hand around the base of his skull and presses their foreheads together, the smallest bit of comfort they can spare with the looming battle.

The dwarrow make quick work of the remaining men, the element of surprise and their impressive numbers giving them the edge. Kíli and Fíli fight at each other's sides, watch each other's back through it all with a practiced ease and elegance. When the last of the slave traders is slain, Fíli lets his sword fall from numbed fingertips before he turns and grabs his brother, tangles one hand through his hair and wraps him in an impossibly tight embrace.

"I'm sorry," he gasps out with a sob. "I'm so sorry; I never should have let us go so far out."

Kíli just shakes his head and wraps his arms just as tight around his brother, even though he is trembling something awful and his hands shake too much to even gain purchase in his overcoat. "It's okay; I'm okay. It's fine."

"No!" Fíli snaps hoarsely, pulling back to press their foreheads together. "It's not. I could have lost you. I could have  _lost_  you…" He coughs around another sob and pulls him close again, murmuring more apologies. "I can't… _can't_  lose you, nadadith."

Another pair of arms wrap around them both, and someone presses their head against his, but Kíli can't tell who it is through the thick curtain of his hair. "Are you hurt, laddie?" Dwalin asks gruffly, concern painting his voice.

He manages to shake his head. "Might be a little bruised," he whispers shakily, hands gripping at his brother again. "But m'fine," he assures them when Fíli chokes out another sob. Dwalin stays with them for a while, until the shaking in Kíli's hands has subsided and Fíli manages to stop the worst of his tears.

It is an even longer while until Fíli pulls away from his brother. "Where are you hurt?" he whispers finally, voice rough from crying, but he looks considerably calmer now.

"My head," he admits, frowning when his brother immediately prods at it. "And I...got kicked a few times," he says. "But I'm  _fine_ , Fee. I promise."

Fíli shakes his head. "This is my fault. I knew we shouldn't have gone so far out."

"You can't blame yourself for this, nadad," he says sternly, echoing his brother's own words from just days ago. "You can't. It's not your fault. It's _not_ ," he reiterates at his brother's self-depreciating groan. "It's those men who did this.  _They_  came here;  _they_  attacked  _us_. And they've paid for it, nadad. There's no blame in this for you."

Fíli sighs. "I know," he murmurs. "I know it's not but I...you're my  _brother_. I'm supposed to protect you. I'm supposed to keep you safe."

"You  _did_ , Fíli. You saved my life," he whispers. "I'd be dead if it weren't for you."

Fíli can only nod.

* * *

"I welcome you all to this settlement," Balin calls out into the town hall, filled with the dwarrow rescued from the slave traders. "And I wish to offer you asylum from your troubles. We will gladly house you in the Inn and provide you with food and drink for one week, to give you time to get your affairs in order and make arrangements for your futures. There are many in these halls that would benefit from your skills in your trades, and you may find employment here. You may wish to return to your original homes, and we will assist you in these arrangements, though you are welcome to take up a trade and reside here in this settlement." He gestures to Bofur, who begins discussing how they will provide rooms for their new guests.

Fíli and Kíli are standing in the back, pressed shoulder to shoulder. Kíli spies Lobruk, reunited with his mother, and feels a sense of pride well up within him, one that quickly melts into a familiar feeling of longing. With a sigh, he let's his head fall to his brother's shoulder, and Fíli wordlessly reaches a hand up to stroke his back comfortingly.

"Are you tired?" he asks softly, and Kíli nods. "We should get you home then. Mister Oin gave me some tea to help with your head."

"Mm," Kíli hums in agreement. They make it back to their home quickly, given the late hour. Fíli frowns hard at him when he pulls his tunic off to change into his sleeping clothes, eyeing the bruising on his side and back. He wrists are also chafed and bruised, but he makes a point not to complain and worry his brother any farther, even though the bruises sting.

Fíli disappears for a while, before returning with a mug of tea and wordlessly pressing it into his still shaking hands. He swiftly changes into his own sleeping clothes while Kíli downs the tea, returns to retrieve the mug and sets it down on the nightstand. He hesitates at his bedside, clearly reluctant to go to his own bed for the night. "Can I…?" he murmurs.

Kíli lifts the furs in invitation, and he shuffles in wordlessly, wrapping his arms tightly around him once more. They're both still trembling, and Fíli is sure that sleep will elude them both this night, but he  _needs_  the physical reassurance that his brother is still safe and well beside him.

The thought of losing him forever had struck him down to his core. It was such a bleak outlook, such an impossibility that he never wanted to see it come true.

He didn't want to live in a world where his brother was  _not_.

* * *

"Have you sent word to Thorin?" Dwalin asks as they return home.

Balin wipes a tired hand down his face. "I'll need to draft some sort of missive to him. Probably send it with a scout, to keep it safe from prying eyes."

"I'll do it," he offers. "I know this has put a lot of strain on you, brother. You've done an admirable job of making arrangements for them. You should rest. There's plenty more to do in the morning."

Balin chuckles lightly. "Of that I am certain. Time will tell if this will be a mistake for our people or not," he admits. "Though you speak as though you're not exhausted yourself. You fought today, and I know...I  _know_  the thought of losing that boy unsettled you."

He sighs heavily. "I swore to Thorin I would protect him - both of them. And then I send them off to the forest to chop firewood as punishment and the lad gets abducted and nearly forced into  _slavery_." He grinds the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I fear Thorin may have put his faith in the wrong place."

Balin shakes his head and pats a hand warmly on his shoulder. "You got him  _back_ , nadadith," he reminds him. "You've kept him safe. Thorin's trust is exactly in the right place."

He reluctantly nods, but still appears deep in thought, a small frown tugging the corners of his mouth down. "Do you think...ah, never mind."

His brother raises an eyebrow, curious. "Do I think what?"

"It's just...the lads. Do you think they could be...that they might be soul bonded?" he asks, hesitant. Balin has always preferred fact and history to the myths and legends of their people, and he isn't quite sure how he will react, though he doubts he will take him seriously.

As he expects, his brother frowns. "That story is just a myth, dear brother. They're very close, yes, but I wouldn't go so far to say they were bonded."

"You're right," he agrees quickly, not wanting to extend the conversation farther. "Go on; off to bed with you. I'll draft the missive for Thorin." Balin nods and gives him a grateful smile before excusing himself to his bedroom.

He sits, attempting to write the missive for hours, but his thoughts continually drift to the lads. They're far closer than any pair of sibling he'd ever seen, closer even than Thorin and Frerin had been. The soul bonding myth took many forms, sometimes speaking only of a romantic love, but most often of a familial bond - siblings who were unnaturally close in age, or the ever-rare twins.

Fíli and Kíli were only five years apart. Conception was difficult for most dwarrowdams, and it often times took ten or more years to conceive a second child. He thought of the brother's Ri, and how they were all thirty years apart in age; a typical set of dwarrow brothers. But Fíli and Kíli…the lads had not only grown up together, but they had also been brought together by unnecessary hardships and trials.

But what struck him more was how they interacted with one another, the wordless glances that were perfectly understood, the reassuring touches, the deep, emotional connection they shared...it was unlike anything he had seen before. The look in Fíli's eyes when he feared that he had lost his brother forever haunted him. It was as though he'd lost  _everything_ ; it was a look he'd only seen once before, in Thror's eyes as they fled the mountain long ago.

It was in the way Fíli's demeanor hardened when they came upon the men's camp, the way his gaze focused in on his brother and no one else. It was in the way they drew comfort from one another, how Fíli had held his brother tightly to him to assure that he was  _real_  and  _alive_ , when such a physical gesture was all but unheard of for dwarrow, much less one in public. It was in the way that they always looked out for each other instead of for themselves, in the way they fought side by side.

He and Thorin had spoken of it once, after they had taken Fíli to Bree to meet with Dain and Kíli had nearly been killed in the orc raid during their absence. It had been Thorin who believed it then, and he who had scoffed at him, but now he wasn't so sure.

If they lost Kíli, if he lived up to his duty as the spare, he wasn't sure that Fíli would survive.

And if he lost both of his boys, he knows, without a single doubt in his mind, Thorin would spiral out of control with his grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this one! I felt like it was a bit of a risk, but it popped into my head and I had to write it.


	20. Sixty-four and Fifty-eight - The Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – So, this is a little tiny snippet of a chapter (about a quarter of the normal length). I wanted to give you some snuggles and tie up some loose ends before bringing up the next full chapter. Plus, this is, in a way, the midpoint of the story. The quest is coming soon!
> 
> I still own nothing. Enjoy!
> 
> Warnings: Fluffity fluff fluff. References to the battle/slave traders from the last chapter.

He hangs back for a moment once his lesson is completed, waiting patiently as Ori receives his instructions on the next round of missives to deliver around the settlement and casting his old friend a wane smile when he leaves. Balin gives him a critical look from over his spectacles, which have slid low on his nose, and he feels like a small little dwarfling, making him shuffle his feet nervously.

"Well, what is it that troubles you, laddie?" he asks finally, a frown on his face. "I'd have thought you'd leave the second we were finished. Your uncle is due back today."

Kíli chews his lip nervously. "I just…I wanted to apologize. Again. For being so cross with you, before," he stammers. Things had been tense between the pair of them since the slaves had been rescued and brought into the settlement a few weeks prior. He had apologized once before, but at the time he had still been angry with Balin, and worried that his elder knew he hadn't meant it. More than that, Kíli also knew his tutor had felt the burden of caring for these refugees – of finding them a place to sleep, and proper clothing, and  _food_  – and for that he was  _sorry_ ; he hadn't meant to be a burden.

In truth, most of the dwarrow they'd rescued had taken the brief leave Balin had offered them before purchasing provisions and heading off for their own homelands. Lobruk and his mother had done as much, returning to their own homeland farther north in the Blue Mountains. Only a few had stayed behind, all of them refugees from Erebor who were quite delighted with being reunited with the heir of their King, and had taken up various jobs within the settlement. In all, it had worked out quite well; no lives had been lost. Their stores had taken a bit of a hit, but there was still enough time before winter's coming for them to replenish their supplies.

Balin offers him a small, comforting smile. "Not to worry, my boy. It's in the past. And it all worked out for the best, did it not?"

Kíli nods tersely. "I…yes, it did," he agrees, gaze falling down to the floor once more. "I just…I was wondering if you…if you could…help me?" he stammers out, stumbling over his words.

The small frown returns to his tutor's face, but he gives him a nod, prompting him to continue.

"I…you were right. About me," he says softly. "I should know my place better. It's not…it's not my place to…to make decisions that affect other people's lives. I just…it was the right thing to do, and I…"

"Kíli," Balin murmurs softly, crossing the room and placing a fond hand on his shoulder as a gesture of comfort.

"I want to be more like you. And Uncle, and Fíli," he admits. "I don't…I want to be able to…to make the right decisions."

Balin gives him a warm smile. "I don't think that is necessary," he murmurs. "You do not give yourself enough credit."

Kíli blinks in surprise, clearly taken aback at his tutor's refusal. "But you said…"

"I know what I said," he interrupts. "And I stand by it, laddie, believe me. You are not suitable for making such decisions, not yet. But that does not mean you will never be," he explains. "You should not seek to be like your brother or your uncle, not in this regard. You…it would not suit you."

Kíli frowns at this bit of information, but nods in acceptance anyhow.

"No off with you," Balin shoos him with a light pat against his shoulder. "I've several meetings to tend to and things to prepare before Thorin arrives."

"Thank you," he whispers, giving a small nod of gratitude before excusing himself. Their brief conversation gives him more questions than answers, drudges up more of his old self-doubts and brings them to the forefront of his mind once more. He is ever aware of how he does not  _fit_  with the rest of his kin. He is an anomaly, with his bare face and lithe body and archery skills, with his soft heart and over-affectionate nature. Some days, he desperately wishes he were anyone but himself, wishes that he could be more like his brother.

To his eyes, Fíli is the prefect example of a proper dwarf. In recent years, he watched his brother grow and change into a worthy prince. He was shrewd but kind, skilled in battle and metalwork, intelligent and rational and levelheaded…in short, he was everything that Kíli was  _not_. He could see his brother, as a great king of Erebor, once Thorin passed the reign on to him, but he never really could see himself, never really knew where he would fit.

With a sigh, he quickens his steps toward home, pushing his troubled thoughts away in favor of excitement for his uncle's eminent return.

* * *

Fíli wipes his brow with a damp cloth from the washbasin, clearing the sweat and grime from another day's training session from his face. It felt like it had been ages since he and Dwalin had managed to spare the time to get in a decent round of practice, and it was a welcome break from the dull meetings he often found himself trapped in with Balin.

"You've developed quite a style with your swords, laddie," his weapons master comments with a wry smile. "You and your uncle both seem to favor a more…fluid technique," he says with a chuckle.

"Looks much nicer than all that hacking about you and Kíli are prone to," he fires back, pleased at the outright laughter his comment pulls from Dwalin.

"That 'hacking' is quite efficient, mind you!" he quips, chucking his own washrag at him. "Some of us don't have time for all that twirly nonsense."

"Hmm, perhaps," Fíli says in mock consideration as he finishes wiping his hands clean. "I suppose we could just ask Uncle his opinion when he returns?"

Dwalin scoffs at that. "Hardly unbiased, he is," he grumbles lightly, before clapping a hand on Fíli's shoulder as they head from the training grounds. "How is your brother?"

He sighs, resists the urge to chew on his bottom lip in concern. "He's…distant, I suppose?" he replies uncertainly. "I don't know, honestly. There's something… _off_  with him, though I cannot place my finger on it."

Dwalin makes a small sound of agreement. "I think it hurt him greatly to learn of dwarrow being kept in slavery," he murmurs. "He's quite pure-hearted, your brother. He's always felt the hurts of others as deeply as if they were his own. I would bet that has left him unsettled."

"Pure-hearted…Uncle's said that about him as well, like it's something…odd," he says with a frown. "What does that even mean?"

"Well," Dwalin sighs. "It means that he's usually more concerned about others than about himself, that he's more…altruistic and kinder than most. It's not such an odd thing, not really. In Erebor, dwarrow pride themselves on shrewdness and aloofness, but that's not the case everywhere." A wistful smile crosses his features. "It's certainly not the case here, in the Blue Mountains. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur certainly seem to exemplify that. And your father, well…he was as pure-hearted as they come."

"He was, wasn't he?" Fíli murmurs. "I don't…I don't remember a lot about him, but everyone always speaks of his kindness."

"Aye; that was what drew your mother to him in the first place. She was used to fake kindness, from those, like Dain, who admired her station instead of  _her_ ," he grumbles, with just a bit of a bite to it. "But your Da…he was as kind as he could be from the day they met. I don't think he even knew  _who_  she was until he started courting her and Thorin threatened to throttle him."

Fíli laughs at that. He'd always wondered how his uncle would have taken to their courting. He knew how close he had been to him mother, and couldn't imagine him being anything but protective of her.

By then, she was all he'd had left.

"It's remarkable to me," Dwalin murmurs a moment later, "how similar Kíli is to your Da. And that's why I worry so much for him. Your Da's kindness got him killed in the end…"

"Stop," Fíli interrupts sharply. "Just…that won't be Kíli. I…I won't let it be. Neither will Uncle."

"Nor will I," Dwalin agrees. "I…your brother may one day swear an oath to Thorin, laddie, to protect the both of you with life and limb, but…" He stops them as they're walking and grasps him firmly by the shoulder, making sure he looks him in the eye. "But I have sworn an oath of my own to him," he says, absolute certainty in his voice. "That I will protect Kili with my life, if that's what it requires."

"Mis-mister Dwalin…I…" A sudden wave of emotion crashes over him – gratitude, relief, even fear at the thought of losing his weapons master – and he finds it difficult to speak. "Thank you," he manages.

Dwalin gives him an uncharacteristically soft smile and pats him on the cheek before they continue their journey through the halls.

* * *

It's later than he would like it to be when he finally returns home. He'd sought out Balin as soon as he'd returned to the settlement, as he'd needed to deliver his notes and findings from his travels.

He'd followed rumor after rumor of his father's whereabouts, but he'd not been able to find hide nor hair of him. Yet, everywhere, there had been clues, murmurs of a senile dwarf roaming about that matched his father's description. It frustrated him to no end. He hadn't allowed himself to hope his father had lived for  _years_ , and, now that he did, it seemed it was all for naught.

He needed to be careful in where he placed his faith. There were few he could tryst, and all of them were waiting for him within the settlement's walls.

He shakes his head to clear his negative thoughts and focuses on his excitement to see his boys. He has missed them more than he dares to admit, especially when he'd received word from the scout of what had transpired regarding the slave traders. He'd wanted nothing more than to ride through the night, to push his pony to its limits to get home as soon as possible. As it was, it had taken the scouts over a week to catch up to him, and just as long for him to get home.

One his initial fear and panic had ebbed away, he couldn't help but feel extremely proud of his boys. Of Kíli, who'd so selflessly thought of others (if he had been a tad reckless), and of Fíli, who'd kept a level head and managed to get his brother home safely (along with all of the rescued slaves). He could see them now, ruling as a pair…Fíli, as the dutiful and proud king, and Kíli, as his passionate and loyal general. They would be heralded as the greatest of Durin's line well after their days, of that he was certain.

His only doubt lie in his own ability to reclaim the mountain.

He doesn't even get the door closed behind him before one of his boys launches at him, arms winding around his neck and nearly toppling him over. He fully expects it to be Kíli, but it's blond hair that's in his vision, not brown.

"Uncle," Fíli breathes out, sounding wholly relieved as he presses himself impossibly close in a way he hasn't for many years.

"Fíli," he whispers, reaching one hand up to tangle in his hair as he presses a kiss to his forehead. His heir burrows in close, tucking his head in against his neck. "I've missed you, lad," he admits, giving him another affectionate squeeze.

"Missed you so much," the lad murmurs against his skin. "Uncle…Uncle I messed everything up. I didn't…I didn't mean to but I just…"

"Shh," he cuts him off, though no unkindly. "Hush, Fíli; you've messed up nothing. All is well. I promise you." He presses another kiss into his hair. "You put too much pressure on yourself. You've done more than I could have asked you to."

Fíli coughs out a rough breath, one that sound suspiciously like a sob, but he nods against him nonetheless.

"Where is your brother?" he asks after a moment, genuinely curious and mildly concerned.

Fíli sniffles a bit and starts to pull away from him. "We were waiting for you an' he fell asleep."

Thorin regards him carefully, pulls the hand free from his hair and brushes a hand across his cheek before pressing their foreheads together. "Thank you," he murmurs sincerely. "I fear I always ask too much of you, yet you never complain."

Fíli just shakes his head. "I didn't…I let you down. I didn't keep him safe, Uncle; I nearly got him killed! It was…it was my fault."

"No, my boy; no," he says softly. "You are not to blame for this. You could not have known. And, from what I have heard, it is because of  _you_ , that they found him so swiftly." When Fíli looks like he is about to protest again, he shakes his head. "You are not to blame, Fíli. I swear this to you."

His heir finally nods in agreement, but when he blinks a few tears manage to slip free, and he easily brushes them aside.

"I am proud of you," he continues. "You fought well in battle and brought your brother home safely. You helped to save all of those slaves, to give them their lives back. You've done nothing wrong."

Fíli nods again. "Thank you," he whispers so quietly he can barely hear.

"Come on," he murmurs gently, tucking Fíli under his arm as they make their way to the sitting room. Kíli is, as his brother had said, sound asleep in the armchair, and Thorin's heart lightens the instant that he sees both of his lads are well.

"Kee," Fíli says softly, just as Thorin reaches down to card a hand through the lad's hair. Kíli blinks awake slowly, but snaps awake as soon as he sees his uncle's face.

"Uncle!" he cries out, pure happiness in his voice as he flings his arms around his neck to embrace him tightly. Fíli chuckles softly at the display, caught up in the hug as he is still pressed against Thorin's side. "So glad you're home," he murmurs. "Missed you."

"And I you, lads," he whispers in return after he kisses Kíli's forehead, wrapping his arms around both of his boys and embracing them tightly, incredibly grateful to be home and with his precious nephews. He doesn't dare let them go. As frustrated as he is that he wasn't able to find his father after months of searching, he takes comfort in the fact that he still has his boys.

That night, he falls asleep in the way he always used to, with one sister-son tucked securely against each side. They may very well be nearly fully-grown lads, and the three of them may just barely fit onto his bed, but he doesn't care; he isn't concerned with coddling them too much, not this time. In recent years he's realized that they will always be his  _boys_ , no matter how big or old they grow.

And it is that thought that warms him down to his soul as he drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am planning on posting a whole series of outtakes and interludes from Greater than Gold once the main story is finished (if there's interest, of course!), so this will probably be expanded upon. I just wanted to wrap up some loose ends before the story progressed any farther.


	21. Seventy and Sixty-Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – This chapter makes me anxious for whatever reason so I'm just going to throw it here and run.
> 
> GARGANTUAN thanks to phoebe-artemis for the beta! Love you bb.
> 
> Warnings: Brief battle scene, mild panic attack (at least the beginning of one), wounded baby dwarves, a small scene that could be interpreted as child abuse? Or at least the thought of it. Technically. That makes it sound bad but it's not.

He snaps awake, the last tendrils of his dream slipping from his mind like sand through his fingers. It's left him with a cold, unsettled feeling that tightens his chest that makes his hands shake. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to assess his surroundings, a technique Dwalin had taught him ages ago. The room he and Kíli share is dark, his brother's breathing deep and even with sleep. The embers in the hearth have burned low and soft, and he knows it must be nearing dawn.

With a shuddering sigh, he scrubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, willing the dark thoughts away and taking a deep breath to steel himself.

He slips from the bed silently, mindful of his little brother still slumbering just a few feet away. With a fond smile he adjusts the blankets from where they've gotten clumped and tangled about his feet, pulling them back up and tucking him in properly. Kíli's brow is furrowed; his lips are moving silently, and with a sinking feeling he realizes that his brother is on the verge of a nightmare of his own. He reaches down to brush a hand along his cheek, smoothing over the high arch of his cheekbone and scratching against the dark stubble that has only recently blossomed along his jaw. He repeats the soothing motion until Kíli's face relaxes and he sighs softly in his sleep, calmed once more.

He doesn't notice how the brief contact with his brother stills the trembling in his own fingers.

"You're up early," Thorin observes once he finally meanders into the kitchen, searching for something to eat.

"Mm," he hums in agreement, finding some of Bombur's apple cinnamon scones still waiting for him, a gift Kíli had brought home a few days prior. "Scout patrol leaves today," he offers as an explanation. "I want to get in some practice with my swords before we leave."

"I should think you've trained plenty enough," his uncle murmurs with a small smile, one that glimmers just so with pride. "Fíli, you are ready for this," he affirms warmly. "There is nothing to be nervous for. Dwalin is leading your patrol; he'll be with you the entire time."

He huffs softly in indignation. "I am  _not_  nervous," he grumbles.

"No? Not at all nervous for your first week-long patrol?" Thorin presses gently, giving him a knowing look as he sits beside him at the table.

"Alright,  _fine_ ," he concedes. "I am a  _little_  nervous, but not for the patrol. I…it's been a long time since I've been away from home." He really means  _from my brother_ , but knows that Thorin hears it even though he doesn't voice it.

In truth, he  _is_  nervous, downright  _terrified_  even, that he will be a failure. He wants so very badly to make Thorin proud of him, to assure their people that he is worthy of his title of Prince, and he worries that his insecurities and inadequacies will come to light in the cold dark of the patrol. He doesn't dare voice these concerns to his uncle; too afraid that Thorin will see his weakness and scorn him for it.

"All will be well here," his uncle murmurs. "There is not much work to be done at the forge, and if the weather is nice enough I'll send your brother out hunting to occupy him and get him out of that wretched mood of his."

Fíli nods, but chews on his bottom lip for a moment in hesitation. Kíli  _has_  been in a horrid mood as of late, but it was only due to Thorin's refusal, yet again, to allow him to join the patrol. It had been promised to Kíli since he was small, that he would one day be the general to Fíli's prince. It was tradition for dwarflings who aimed to become warriors to join the patrol after their sixtieth year, but Thorin had denied him that rite of passage, kept insisting that he train for  _one more year_.

With a sigh, he makes up his mind. He and Thorin have attempted to have this talk before, just yesterday, no less, and it still sits ill within him. "You could just let him join the patrol," he says calmly. "It's his duty to lead Erebor's armies one day, is it not? It's his birthright." He winces when he sees the tick in his Uncle's jaw, knowing full well that this could escalate into another shouting match.

"He is not ready," Thorin answers quickly, finality in his voice.

"You've been saying that for five years," Fíli counters quietly. "And he  _is_  ready, Uncle. He is far more ready than  _I_  ever was."

Thorin's entire body tenses as his gaze focuses on the fire burning away in the sitting room's hearth, by all appearances unwilling to hold this conversation, resolutely ignoring Fíli's observation.

" _You're_  not ready, are you?" he asks, finally voicing the question that had been stuck in his mind for months. It didn't make sense any other way. Kíli was skilled with his sword and bow; Dwalin had said as much. As a member of the patrol, he would also learn diligence, would learn to control his recklessness and become a strong leader. There was no reason  _not_  to let him, yet Thorin still insisted.

Softness replaces the tension in his uncle's features for less than a second, before it is replaced with sternness. " _He_  is not ready. If he still mopes about like a child at my decision, then he lacks the maturity to handle a patrol." The harshness in his tone leaves no room for argument, and Fíli sighs in resignation.

"Just…" he starts, and then shakes his head.  _Just give him a chance; he deserves it_ , he wants to say, but he doesn't want to start another argument between them, not when he's due to leave for a week, at least. "Fine," he murmurs, not able to keep the bite out of his voice.

Thorin sighs heavily. "Fíli…"

"No, it's…it's your decision," he mumbles as he stands to leave the table, deciding he will finish his breakfast later. "If you don't think he's ready then…then it's fine. But don't expect it not to hurt him." He returns his scone to the pantry, taking more haste than normal to depart their kitchen. "I'm going to go and train for an hour or so."

Thorin hasn't moved from his seat on the bench, but he nods despite the tempest of emotions brewing on his face.

* * *

Thorin frowns as he watches Fíli retreat to his bedroom to prepare for the day. His sister-son is  _right_ , and they both know it. It is not Kíli's preparedness that he doubts, it never has been; it is his own.

He'd sparred with Kíli just last week, and the lad had held his own against him, at one point had nearly  _beaten_  him, and his skill with the bow was unprecedented, virtually unheard of amongst their kin. It would do Kíli well to serve on the patrol, would teach him the diligence and give him the confidence in his abilities that he so desperately needed.

But he  _couldn't_. Every time he found himself ready to acquiesce his youngest nephew's request, he was reminded of the horrid dreams that still plagued him, ones of his youngest nephew being ruthlessly murdered by the Defiler, or writhing in agony after being struck with an orc arrow, or being enslaved and tortured by men, and he found himself refusing.

He wasn't  _trying_  to be cruel, but Fíli, with all of his kindness and patience, would never be able to understand him in this. He  _couldn't_. He didn't remember his brother's first days in this world; he'd been too young and swallowed whole by a grief he never should have been burdened with. He didn't  _remember_.

But Thorin  _did_.

He remembered being there when Kíli was born, remembered how his heart had sunk at the tiny size of the dwarfling ( _too small, he'll never survive the winter_ ). He remembered sitting by and being able to do nothing but  _watch_  as his precious baby sister succumbed to her heartsickness, remembered how _nothing_ , not him nor either of her sons, could pull her free from it. He remembered how he'd locked himself away in their spare bedroom, stricken with the weight of his loss, Kíli wailing away from his crib beside him and Fíli similarly grieving in his room.

He remembered giving up.

He'd even planned it, exactly what he was going to do. He knew Kíli was too small, that he wouldn't survive winter in the wilds, but Fíli  _might_. He'd pack for them, bring all the food and furs they could manage, and they'd leave, just the two of them, to head south. And if Fíli couldn't make it, then…he'd have to leave him behind as well.

Then Kíli's cries, the high, thin wails that had become little more than background noise as he sat numb with his sadness, stopped. The sudden change in his surroundings snapped him out of his thoughts, and he rose on stiff legs to investigate. The lad had stopped breathing, his face reddened with the effort of trying to take in air and lips purpled. Panicked, Thorin had leapt into action, grabbing the tiny dwarfling and pulling him close, rubbing and patting his back until the blockage in his throat loosened and passed and his cries resumed in full force.

He remembered how he'd frantically worked to get the lad to calm down, how he'd fed him and soothed him until his tears stopped and were replaced with happy babbles.

He remembered apologizing to the tiny babe, over and over again. He'd been immediately ashamed of his thoughts, once his mind was clearer, that he'd even _considered_  leaving an infant behind to starve and die, leaving Fíli alone in the cold to fend for himself. He hadn't been thinking clearly, as blinded by his despair as he had been.

But more than anything, he remembered how he finally let himself weep for his losses, and how Kíli, with his tiny, clumsy hand, had reached up and touched his face. And he found hope. He found  _hope_ , and Kíli hadn't let him lose it since.

It was Kíli who had helped pull Fíli out of his grief as well, though not as directly. Thorin had asked for his help, Thorin had told him that he couldn't  _do_  this without Fíli's help, and the little prince had picked himself up and mustered the courage to press on, to be a  _good_  brother, as Thorin had asked.

Kíli was his hope, Fíli his future, and he knew,  _knew_  without a single doubt in his mind, that losing Kíli would be his downfall.  _Kíli_  had become the glue that held their family together.

And if anything were to happen to Kíli while he was on patrol, it would be  _his_  fault. Fíli would never forgive him, and the bond that they had would surely wither and die without Kíli's spirit to hold them together. He didn't know if he could bear it. He'd let the lad down far too many times in his life.

Yet still, it  _was_  Kíli's birthright, it was his place, and to deny it from him was undoubtedly cruel, even if his intentions were to protect him. Perhaps he should reassess…the past had proven to him that Kíli had been no safer locked away in the settlement. He had no guarantee that they would be protected because there  _was_  no guarantee, none at all. Not in this world where they cowered in the sides of borrowed mountains, looked down upon and forsaken by all others. There was no safety at all for them in this world, no matter how fiercely he wished for it.

He is still lost in his own thoughts when Fíli reemerges from his room, nearly misses it when the lad bids him farewell and promises to return in a couple of hours at most.

Seeing his eldest walk out the door makes that churning, anxious feeling in his gut spurn forward, reminding him of the times he had nearly lost Kíli, reminding him that if it could happen to his youngest, so too could it happen to his heir.

He sits in silence for several long moments, in an attempt to calm the tumultuous thoughts in his mind. He  _knows_  what he needs to do. With a sigh, he comes to a decision, and rises from the table to follow it through before his cowardice talks him out of it once more.

* * *

"Thought I'd find you here," Kíli calls as he enters the training arena, smile evident in his voice.

Fíli stops himself mid-swing, turning to regard his brother as he wipes the sweat from his brow. "Look who's up before midday," he teases, earning himself a playful shove at his shoulder from his little brother. "I'd have thought you'd sleep the whole day away since Uncle gave you a break from the forge."

Kíli's nose wrinkles ever so slightly, either at the mention of their uncle or working in the forge, he isn't sure. "Yes, well, I thought I might come and see if your arse is in shape for this patrol or not," he says playfully, giving his elder brother a meaningful glace as he grabs one of the practice swords.

"What do I get when I win?" Fíli asks nonchalantly, pleased to see his brother in higher spirits, returning his own sword to its scabbard before picking up a wooden one, testing its weight in his hands and taking a few experimental swings.

" _If_  you win," Kíli says, with a small bite in his voice, paired with an impish grin, "I've a gift for you that you might find useful on your patrol."

"Oh?" he replies, curiosity piqued. "And if  _you_  win?"

" _I_  get a very nice gift that I'll  _never_  find useful on patrol," he says with a slight pout, but his eyes are mirthful, indicating that he's not as downtrodden as Fíli had expected him to be. It's a strange mood that his brother is in, but he does seem to be happier than he has been as of late, so Fíli doesn't fret too much on it.

"One day, brother-mine," he murmurs in a singsong reply, reaching a hand out to shake and accept the wager. "You're precious to Uncle. You know that."

Kíli snorts quietly in disbelief. "No more than you are," he retorts, turning away from him to walk to the sparring area, dragging the tip of his practice sword as he walks.

"Precious in a different way, then," Fíli acquiesces as they fall into their ready stances.

Once their sparring match begins, he finds his thoughts drawn away from his brother's slightly off-kilter behavior in favor of their mock battle. Kíli has always been faster and more agile than him, and he always needed to stay on his toes. True, a well-placed hit with his own sword would send his baby brother sprawling down into the dirt, but Fíli had no desire to win as quickly as possible today. Though,…Kíli  _was_  leaving his side open far too often for his liking.

"You're doing it again," he observes as he parries and blow and jumps back. "Leaving your left side open after you swing."

"Am not," comes the immediate denial, so Fíli ever so lightly smacks his sword against his abdomen the next time it's presented to him. Kíli squawks in indignation at the barely-there hit, dropping his guard for a split second that Fíli uses his advantage, twirling his sword just so around his brother's wrist and causing Kíli's wooden blade to come crashing to the ground as his grip falters. "Not  _fair_!"

Fíli just gives him a wide grin. "Yield, nadadith?"

His little brother uses his speed then, rushing at him while he's left himself defenseless and tackling him into the dirt. They dissolve into nothing more than a wrestling match, much as they had when they were younger; only now, Kíli is considerably larger and puts up much more of a fight. He finds himself breathless with laughter, not minding in the slightest when Kíli pins him face down in the dirt, mirthful laughter spilling from his lips.

"Oy, get off me," he says once he manages to catch his breath. "You're heavy now!"

Kíli lets out a sound of mock surprise and moves to let him up, but Fíli only whips around and tackles him back into the ground.

"Cheater!" he shouts, though his laughter jumbles his words. "Dirty, rotten cheater!"

"Yield?" Fíli asks again, plopping himself down on his brother's chest none-too-gently, using his heavier weight to his tactical advantage.

Kíli wheezes lightly, smacking at him to get off. "Yes, fine,  _yield_ ; just get off! The last time I get you scones, I swear it!"

Fíli climbs up off the ground, offering him a hand up in consolation. He half expects his brother to just tug him back down and restart their wrestling match, but Kíli just hops up with a breathless smile. "So, where's my prize?" he asks, and receives a shove in the shoulder for his trouble.

"I don't know if you should have it," Kíli murmurs thoughtfully as he returns his wooden sword to the rack, reaching out a hand for Fíli to turn his over as well. "But it's at home. Did you still want to practice more?" Suddenly, his little brother looks concerned, unsure of himself. "I didn't mean to distract you."

Fíli throws an arm around his shoulder and leads them away from the sparring ring. "Not a distraction at all," he reassures. "I was almost done anyhow. Or, I should have been at least."

"I don't know why you're so nervous," Kíli mutters, staying pressed close to his side as he wraps his own arm around Fíli's torso. "You've been off hunting with Mister Dwalin and me for longer trips."

"It's not…I'm not nervous about being gone for a while," he says, trying to find words to voice his concerns. It's  _more_  than just being away from home, and being away from Kíli. "I just…I don't know."

"I do," his brother says, almost nonchalantly. "You want to impress them. And Uncle. Don't you?"

Fíli frowns for a moment, marveling in his brother's apparent ability to read his thoughts, and nods in agreement. "I think…yea, I think that's the best way to put it. I'm…I'm supposed to be their prince. I should be someone they can depend on. Don't you think?"

He is unsurprised when his brother nods in agreement. "But you already are, nadad. I hear people talk all the time about what a great prince you'll be…what a great  _king_  you'd be after Thorin."

He flushes at that. "Do…really?"

Kíli nods. "Truly." His expression turns a little somber after, and Fíli knows, without a doubt, that he's thinking on what the townspeople say about him.

"Your time will come, Kee," he says quietly, but Kíli looks wholly unconvinced, and he can't think of anything to say through their whole walk home.

Thorin doesn't appear to be home when they arrive, for which he is equal parts relieved and anxious. They quickly divest themselves of their weapons and boots, before Kíli all but sprints back to their bedroom. With a fond smile, Fíli follows behind him. His brother is rummaging around in his chest, finally lifting up a rather large parcel wrapped in paper. Curious, Fíli strides up to him, accepting the gift as it's handed to him with a small smile. "What's this then?" he asks, reaching for the leather string tied around it.

"Told you," Kíli murmurs, somewhat shyly. "Something useful for patrol."

With childlike eagerness, Fíli tears into the parcel, revealing a fine leather overcoat. The lapels and cuffs are lines with soft grey fur, and the tan leather that makes the coat is soft and pliable. His sigil is embroidered along the hems, in a thread that's just a shade darker than the coat itself. It's ornate, but not flashy, and it's so perfectly  _Fíli_  that he has to marvel at his brother's thoughtfulness in this gift.

"Do you like it?" Kíli asks quietly, all boisterous bravado from earlier lost, hidden in the quiet insecurity that his gift isn't enough, that  _he_  isn't enough.

"It's…" he starts, flummoxed. "It's perfect. Did you make this?" he asks incredulously. He knew Kíli was skilled in leatherwork, but he'd never seen him make any clothing before.

He shakes his head. "I mean, not really? I helped tan the leather, and the fur is all from rabbits that I caught, and I came up with the design," he explains. "But I didn't…I didn't  _make_  it," he says, deflating softly.

"No, I didn't…I didn't mean it like it was a bad thing. It's…how did you ever afford this?" he asks as he shrugs his older coat off, trying the new one on for size.

Kíli brightens back up a bit. "I…you know how I was carving things for Mister Bofur all winter?" He nods, stretching his arms above his head to get a feel for the coat, smiling slightly at how well it fits, with just a bit more room for him to finish growing. "He paid me for 'em, and I used that to get you a coat."

"Kíli this is…this is wonderful, but it's too much, nadadith," he says quietly. "You shouldn't spoil me so."

His little brother gives him a bright smile, waving a hand dismissively at him. "You needed something  _princely_  for your patrol," he explains softly. "I wanted you to have something nice."

With a soft chuckle, Fíli gathers his little brother into a warm embrace. "Then thank you, nadadith," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the mess of curls at his cheek.

* * *

He's glad to see two pairs of boots at the door when he returns home; he was hoping to catch the lads before they headed off to the barracks to await the departure of Fíli's patrol. "Boys?" he calls into the quiet house, toeing off his own boots and venturing into the kitchen.

It's not a moment later that both of them emerge in the kitchen. He raises an eyebrow at the wonderful coat Fíli is wearing. "And how did you come by that?" he asks.

"Kíli had it made for me," he explains, nudging his brother in the side when he looks away, embarrassed. "It's nice isn't it?"

Thorin waves him over, inspecting the garment more closely. "That it is," he agrees. "I had wondered what became of all of those rabbits you snared in the fall," he adds, with a small smile toward his youngest. Kíli only meets his eyes for a second before his gaze falls back to the floor, a behavior that has become increasingly more common of late. "Are you all packed for your patrol?" he asks, steering the focus away from the brunet.

Fíli nods. "Aye. Kee helped me finish just now," he explains. "I'm due at the barracks in an hour or so."

Thorin nods. An anxious feeling leaps up in his chest, but he wills it down. "Kíli," he calls, frowning slightly when the lad looks up at him and resembles a small, scolded child. "You're due to report to Gloin in an hour's time as well."

Kíli brow furrows in confusion, and he immediately looks to his brother for an explanation. Fíli understands what his statement means, and his face splits into a wide smile. Realization slowly dawn's on his youngest nephew's face, and he turns wide, disbelieving eyes to him. "Really?"

Thorin smiles softly at him. "Truly."

The lad leaps towards him, throwing his arms around him and hugging him tightly. "Thank you, Uncle," he murmurs repeatedly, squeezing tighter when Thorin's arms wrap around him as well, one hand tangles in his hair to keep him close. "I won't let you down," he promises.

"You could never," Thorin affirms him softly, struggling to speak around the lump that has formed in his throat. "I am sorry I held you back for so long."

Kíli just shakes his head and hugs him tighter, just as Fíli comes to embrace them both. He catches Thorin's eye and mouths a silent 'thank you,' before pressing a kiss into his brother's hair.

It still terrifies him down to his very core, the thought of sending his boys out into the world without his ability to protect them. He just has to hope that the fates are not so cruel to rip his last, most precious gems away from him.

* * *

He was nervous to be under Gloin's supervision. He knew the warrior was skilled and that Thorin trusted him, but Kíli  _still_  couldn't shake the fear that crept up on him, couldn't stop himself from remembering what had happened the last time he'd been under the tutelage of his distant cousin.

It starts as a slight ache in his side where the arrow had pierced him, and he tries to ignore it. By the time his first training session is over, his hands are trembling and it takes everything he has to keep his wits about him. He's jumpy and flighty and hopes to Aulë that the other patrolmen haven't noticed.

He's never in any real danger – they never even leave the settlement. It's little more than practicing formations and stances and Gloin and the other officers filling his head full of protocol and information. By the time they're done, he's exhausted emotionally and physically, and he wishes fiercely that Fíli had not left that afternoon. He feels worn and spent and all he wants is to curl up in bed tucked next to his brother and go to sleep.

The other patrolmen decide to go to the tavern for a drink, and he finds himself too polite to refuse. It would be nice to see Bofur, at least. The toymaker had always been great at pulling him out of his thoughts when they drifted too dark.

He has never met most of he patrolmen before this day. He doesn't feel like he has a lot in common with the lot of them, but he does his best to be friendly and cordial. They will be his new family, Fíli had said, and he'll need to learn to trust them and rely on them.

Truthfully, he feels completely out of place with these veteran warriors, ones who have fought in real battles and have been on the patrol for years. He's the youngest by at least fifteen years, and certainly the only one who hasn't come of age yet. He feels horribly, hopelessly green and inexperienced next to them, yet also envious of how they can speak of their battles and wounds as if they do not haunt their every waking moment.

It doesn't help that some of the younger dwarrow were ones who teased him when he was much smaller, and, though he's never held a grudge against them for it, he still felt like he was under their scrutiny, like he needed to  _prove_  himself. It had set his nerves on edge from the very second Gloin had welcomed him into the patrol.

Today's training, all the talk of orcs and fighting and what to do with the wounded has drudged up too many foul memories, and try as he might, he can't seem to will them away. The ale swirling in his system makes it even worse, so he shoves his mug aside, politely refusing when Gloin offers to fetch him another. Someone laughs, makes a joke about how he must not be able to handle his liquor, and he flushes slightly with shame.

Uncle was right. He wasn't ready. Not even close.

Bofur eventually comes and sits with them, squeezing in close on the bench so that Kíli is pressed warmly against his side, laughing uproariously at one of their jokes. It comes as a tremendous comfort, and he finds it easier to listen to their stories and calm himself with the kindly older toymaker by his side. What he really wants in to curl up against the dwarf and shut his eyes tight against the world, but he knows better than that. There are appearances to be kept up. He has to be strong. He has to be  _brave_.

"Alright then you lot," Bofur announces eventually, clapping a hand warmly on his shoulder. "Don't think Thorin would fancy you getting his nephew blisteringly drunk this evening. You've plenty more years for that," he adds with a wink. The patrolmen don't question his statement, and simply raise their mugs and bid him a goodnight. "Off you go then, laddie."

He's immeasurably grateful for Bofur's thoughtfulness and eagerly takes the escape he's given. He makes his way home quickly, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his bed with Fíli and sleep until his dark thoughts leave his mind. He thought he'd be okay without his brother for a week, but it's barely been six hours and he feels like he's starting to fall apart. He hopes that is uncle isn't at home; he feels too ashamed to face him.

Fate does not seem to be on his side, tonight.

Thorin greets him warmly as he enters their home, but his face falls immediately once he takes in Kíli's sullen expression. "How was it?" he asks cautiously.

His hands are badly shaking as he removes his weapons and boots. "Fine," he answers, cursing the tremor in his voice. He'd made such a big stink about how _ready_  he was for the patrol, and he came home and trembling, terrified wreck. And nothing had even  _happened_.

"Kíli," his uncle starts, and he worries that a scolding is coming. But his tone is concerned and almost…unsure of what to say. "Come, lad," he murmurs, extending an arm out to embrace him.

He hesitates, not wanting to seem weak, but he knows Thorin is a seasoned warrior, knows that his uncle might have an idea of how to help with his newfound problem. He tucks himself up against his uncle's side, sighing with relief when Thorin hugs him tightly, and shushes him quietly. He hates the tears that come to his eyes, hates himself for being so  _weak_  and crumbling after just one day of training.

"Come, lad," Thorin murmurs again, pulling him over to the settee to sit but not releasing his hold on him. "Hush, my boy. It's all right. Tell me what happened."

"I'm sorry," he babbles out. "I'm sorry; I just…nothing happened. I just…I couldn't stop thinking about…about  _before_. I'm sorry." The tears fall like a flood, and he curls in against his uncle's side, ashamed at his weakness as he clutches the older dwarf's tunic.

Thorin tuts quietly. "There's nothing to apologize for," he murmurs calmly. "I should have…I should have prepared you better. I should have warned you." He cards a hand through his hair and presses a kiss against his forehead. "It…it gets better with time, Kíli. I assure you. The more you train, the easier it is to face."

"M'not ready," he whispers softly against Thorin's neck, futilely scrubbing at his cheek in frustration. "You were right. I'm not ready."

He feels Thorin shake his head before another kiss is dropped into his hair. "I should not have held you back. Had you started five years ago, this would already be easier for you."

"Can I just be on patrol with Fee? And Mister Dwalin?" he asks, feeling more like a small child than anything else.

Thorin sighs and shakes his head once more. He lets out a soft noise of protest before his uncle elaborates. "I thought hard on this," he explains. "But you have a tendency to…to  _hide_  behind your brother. To let him take the lead even when you're fully capable of doing so yourself. You…there is greatness in you, Kíli, but you're too afraid to put yourself out there and let others see it."

He's stunned into silence by his uncle's confession. Thorin has never been anything but encouraging of him, but it still comes as a shock to hear him speak of him so highly. And he doesn't quite know if he believes him or not. He's nowhere as great as Fíli is, nowhere as skilled or as brave or as strong, and he doesn't want the others in the settlement to see his weaknesses on full display. It's easier to play the part of Fíli's timid little brother; it seems much more daunting to be the second  _prince_.

"I want you to shine on your own," Thorin concludes quietly a moment later.

Kíli frowns. "What if I can't?" he asks quietly, insecurity seeping into his voice.

"You can," Thorin assures him. "Though it will take time. There will be days when you feel like you have failed, probably like you feel today, my boy. There will be days when old hurts won't leave you alone, when others doubt you, when you doubt  _yourself_ …but you must always persevere. You can do this."

He shakes his head and curls closer to him, not wanting to trust and believe his uncle's words just yet. He thought the patrol was all that he wanted, but he feels so horribly lost, and he doesn't want to let Thorin down. He wants to be someone they are proud of, Thorin and Fíli both, but he doesn't know how, and it scares him.

Thorin's hand keeps idly stroking down his back and he starts to hum softly. The physical and emotional exhaustion of the day finally takes its toll on him, and he finds himself drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

When he wakes in the morning, he's still curled in Thorin's protective embrace.

* * *

It takes a few months, but they eventually settle into a rhythm. Most mornings, they both train with their separate patrols. Around midday, Kíli's patrol departs, and Fíli comes to the forge to work. In the evenings, Fíli's patrol leaves, and Kíli continues to help Bombur, Bofur, and Bifur with the tavern and other tasks they need completed. After dark, they all return home to supper, then almost immediately head to bed.

Weekends are their refuge. In the spring and summer months, the boys spend nearly every Saturday they can hunting in the woods surrounding the settlement. Fíli still has his lessons with Balin on Sundays, but their afternoons are usually free to laze about.

By fall, their routine is regular as rain, comfortable and predictable. Thorin loves watching both of his boys blossom into fine your princes and warriors, and it eases his heart greatly to see them doing so well,  _especially_  Kíli, who laughs easier again.

After the harvest, he sends Dwalin and a rather large party of their warriors on a journey to the Iron Hills in an attempt to do some reconnaissance about the dragon and to determine if Dain really was the perpetrator of the false information they'd been fed. He has hesitated to let them leave, but they haven't seen hide nor hair of orcs or goblins all summer, and the harvest has provided them with plenty of food. He had delayed on sending them out for years, too nervous to leave the settlement weakened or too unwilling to dedicate such a large portion of their resources until they were in better standing.

But the time has come. He can delay no longer. If he wants to reclaim the mountain, he will have to deal with them being vulnerable for a few months. He worries that he no longer has the luxury to bide his time and wait until the opportune moment to reclaim what was his. He needs to  _create_  the opportunity himself.

It is two weeks to the day after Dwalin leaves that the unthinkable happens.

He receives word from a very flustered Ori that the scribe assigned to the day patrol ( _Kíli's_  patrol) reports that they had come under attack by a band of orcs, and that the dusk patrol ( _Fíli's_ patrol) had been deployed to aid them.

It is as if all of his worst fears are exploding directly in front of his face. They are short staffed – by  _his_  decision – and orcs, who haven't been seen around their lands in ages, will be aiming their swords and axes at both of his sister sons.

"How long ago did the patrol depart?" he asks calmly, though he rises with great haste and sets about preparing himself to leave. If he's lucky, he won't be far behind them.

"An hour ago, sir," Ori answers, and flinches a bit at Thorin's harsh gaze. "The scribe was injured and sent to the House of Healing. The message was held up there. I came to you straight away."

Thorin softens just a bit in a silent apology. "Go and inform Balin. Let him know that I will be at the barracks forming a third party, just in case." When Ori nods and makes to leave, he adds a "thank you, lad."

He makes it to the barracks in record time, and is unsurprised to find it in a mild level of chaos. Narvi, one of the higher ranking warriors, seeks him out immediately. "The patrols were successful; the orcs are slain," he explains, and Thorin feels a great weight lift from his chest. "But there are wounded, and three dead – Farin, Náli, and Ibûn. I haven't heard anything about our princes," he elaborates, almost apologetically. "We've sent for the healers, and sent a party our to meet them."

Thorin nods and claps a hand on the younger dwarf's shoulder. "Thank you," he says, pressing further into the barracks, finding Óin barking orders as he sets up a make-shift triage to treat the returning wounded.

"What do you need, cousin?" he asks, wanting to feel useful and desperately trying to get his mind off of his unaccounted for heirs.

"Ah, Thorin!" the healer greets warmly. "I fear we will need more valerian and other medical supplies once they start arriving. Would you mind fetching them from the halls?"

He nods, eager to accept such a menial task, and all but sprints to the House of Healing with Óin's list in hand. He finds Gimli milling about, and the young lad is more than happy to help him locate all of the items he needs. "Have they returned yet?" he asks eventually, brown eyes clearly filled with worry for his father. "Uncle asked me to stay here…but I just want to know if Da is alright."

Thorin shakes his head. "They've not yet returned. I will send word to you as soon as I know anything, lad; I assure you."

The redhead nods his thanks, and the rest of their task is completed in silence.

* * *

When he comes back to himself, he's only aware of the blinding pain in his leg. It feels like it is positively on  _fire_ , and he blinks rapidly to clear the darkness from his vision as he tries to make sense of the world around him.

It all comes back in a rush.

He'd been at the barracks, wanting to get in a bit of practice before his patrol. Work had been slow at the forge, and he'd been positively annoying Thorin, and his uncle had sent him off. He'd just gotten his twin blades sharpened, and he'd wanted to test them out.

Then Grór, the scribe assigned to Kíli's patrol, had all but burst into the barracks, covered in blood and muck, announcing that the patrol had been ambushed by a pack of orcs and needed aid.

He went numb as the young scribe continued to elaborate, as he described where the attack had happened, and it wasn't until Gamil, the leader of his patrol during Dwalin's absence, sent the word to rally the dwarrow of the dusk patrol to come to their assistance.

Everything after that had been a blur. It hadn't been too far from the settlement that they'd been attacked, and they made it in record time. The fighting was still going on, and the orcs appeared to have the upper hand.

He couldn't see Kíli anywhere.

With a tremendous cry, his patrol leapt into the fray, easily catching the orcs off guard and making quick work of them. At one point, Fíli had been double teamed, and a particularly gruesome looking orc managed to slice his leg. It had hurt, but he continued to fight on. He must have lost too much blood and passed out, but he couldn't remember.

When his vision finally focuses, he's made aware of the canopy of trees passing over his head, realizing with a start that he's being carried in a makeshift stretcher.

"Kíli…" he mumbles out, worried sick for his precious little brother and hoping that he is all right. He can't have been too late. He couldn't live with himself if he'd been too late. He tries to crane his head up to see, but he can't muster up the energy to do so.

"We've almost got you home, laddie," someone above him says. "Try not to move until then."

He collapses back with a groan. Their steady pace and the rhythmic rocking of the stretcher lulls him back into unconsciousness.

* * *

When he wakes again, someone is pressing a cool cloth against his forehead, and there's the solid weight of a warm body pressed next to him. With great effort he manages to pry his eyes open, easily finding the ashen face of his uncle hovering above him, illuminated only by candlelight.

"Uncle," he mumbles, feeling heavy and leaden, but he doesn't miss the way the older dwarf's shoulders sag with relief. "Where's Kee?" he asks, his voice a pitiful sounding garble.

Underneath the blanket, hand grasps his and squeezes tightly. "M'here," Kíli groans, sounding just as wrecked as he feels. He turns his head to regard his brother, panic welling up in his throat when he sees the boy's chest covered in a bloodied bandage.

"You're hurt," he grinds out.

Kíli gives him a lopsided smile, though he can tell it pains him to do so. "No worse than you," he promises.

"You're both lucky," Thorin elaborates, removing the cloth from his brow and rising from their bedside. "Your wounds have cost you a lot of blood, but they will heal quickly. You've both got plenty of stitches, and you'll be out of training for a while."

"Don't even…'member what happened," Kíli whines softly, turning his head so that it presses against his brother's shoulder. "Haven't seen them all summer, and then…just pop up outta no'ere."

Fíli squeezes his hand back, idly rubbing his thumb across his brother's knuckles as a soft comfort. He's just as lost, just as confused. He'd thought they were safe, this was the safest they had felt in  _years_ , but it was nothing more than an illusion. Danger still lurked around every corner.

Thorin leans down and kisses both of their foreheads tenderly. "Óin will be in to tend your bandages soon," he says. "Rest. I have some things to tend to," he says. "I won't be long, my boys."

Fíli nods in acceptance, and Kíli is already half asleep as he pulls the door closed behind him. He counts his blessings one more time, grateful that his sister-sons came home alive and that they are expected to make a full recovery.

* * *

"This is  _bad_ , Thorin," Balin says. His normally stoic old friend looks visibly stricken, face pale as he reads over the cloth again. It's written in the Black Speech, but, as the intended advisor to the King, Balin had learned to read it many years ago.

"What does it say?" he asks, trepidation filling his voice.

Balin stares at the cloth once more, shaking his head in disbelief. "It's a ransom notice," he says quietly. "Promise of payment for the Heir of Durin. Dead or Alive."

It hits him like a punch to the gut. All of the breath rushes out of his lungs, and he has to grab the back of the armchair to keep himself from toppling over. _Him_. They're hunting  _him_. Or worse, the  _lads_. He feels sick at the thought. "Why?" he mumbles in disbelief. He can't imagine why the orcs would be deliberately hunting  _him_. "What do we do?" he asks as he turns to regard his confidante, genuinely afraid.

Balin shakes his head, and, for the first time in all of the years Thorin has known him, looks completely lost. "I…I don't know."

"They know I'm here…or at least suspect," he mumbles. "They won't leave it alone until they've found me, will they?"

"We don't know that," Balin interrupts swiftly. "Our men reported that it appeared to be nothing more than a scouting party. We may have just had the misfortune of encountering them while they were headed somewhere else."

Thorin nods, desperate to believe this plausible explanation. "We…send for the Wizard," he decided, hoping that Gandalf may have more information for him from his travels. "And send warning to Dwalin. Use Khuzdul and the ravens." Balin nods in agreement. "And trust no one."

And in the course of one afternoon, his illusion of safety is shattered, broken beyond repair. There is no going back now; he must act, and act quickly, to keep his kin and his people from harm.

It feels as though all of Middle Earth is against him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [flees into the night]


	22. Seventy-Five and Sixty-Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – Sorry this one took forever. It’s mostly Fíli POV, and as most of you are painfully aware, I am terrible at writing from his perspective. It’s not a great chapter but it has a lot of events that needed to happen before the next one.
> 
> And soon…we will depart on our quest!
> 
> No beta this time so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> Warnings: Nothing major. Stressed babies, minor discussion of injuries.

In a word, he’s tired.

Wholly _exhausted_ , really, but he’s never been one to complain.

It had been five years. Five years _to the day_ since Thorin had up and left the settlement with no explanation; no _warning_. He hadn’t even said goodbye, not properly. He and Kíli were still holed up in the House of Healing, still recovering from their wounds. Thorin had come in and said that he’d an important task he needed to tend to, and that he may not be able to visit for a while. They’d thought he meant a few hours, at the most. But he’d vanished, and Balin had vanished with them, and no one knew where they’d gone or why they had left.

Then the hours stretched into days, and days into weeks. His leg healed well for the most part, but he limped on it sometimes while the muscle continued to strengthen. Kíli’s chest wound caught an infection from the dirtied orc blade that sliced him, one that Oin was able to treat easily enough, but it still left him feeling sick and horrid for days longer. Worse still had been how they were both worried half to death, fearful for their missing uncle, yet utterly gutted by his apparent abandonment. Had they done something wrong?

It had crushed Kíli. He’d tried valiantly to hide it, of course, but Fíli could see it plain as day. Bofur came to visit them almost daily, bringing delicious concoctions of Bombur’s every time he did, and it had done wonders to lift their spirits and he helped calm the worst of their fears for their uncle with gentle reassurances.

The weeks stretched into months, and when Balin returned just before the winter, he brought the explanation with him. He told them of how the patrols had intercepted the message of the orcs, calling for the heir of Durin, living or dead. He told them of how Thorin, worried for their safety as well as his own, had fled with Balin to Bree, how neither of them had breathed a word of their whereabouts to _anyone_. Thorin intended to continue to run and travel aimlessly throughout the land, in an effort to throw the orcs off of his trail and confuse them about his whereabouts. Their tutor had also brought them a note, written by their uncle, in which he apologized for his hastiness but affirmed his love for them, while promising that he would return home as soon as he was able.

Everything changed after that. Fíli had been placed in command of the settlement, though he was under Balin’s constant and strict supervision. The additional responsibility had become a heavy weight on his shoulders, and had robbed him of most of his free time (and truthfully, his free will). He understood better why Thorin had often seemed too busy for them when they were children; he probably _had_ been. He and Kíli started to grow more distant by the day as they grew more and more consumed with their responsibilities. He knew he needed to fix that, knew that Kíli was hurting from their uncle’s departure to begin with, but he didn’t know _how_. It was a balancing act that he hadn’t had time to learn. He’d been trust into this position unwillingly, and every day was a struggle just to keep his head above water.

The months stretched on into years. Dwalin returned from the Iron Hills in the spring following Thorin’s departure. His meetings with Dain had proved to be entirely fruitless. The Lord of the Iron Hills had closed the mountain prior to their arrival, refusing to let them in and forcing them to make camp through the winter outside his kingdom’s walls. A sickness had come to the dwarrow of the Iron Hills, and Dain was not keen to see it spread.

The old dwarrow did agree to hold court with them, and had emerged from his halls to meet within their shabby encampment. However, he refused to promise any resources or aid should Thorin seek to reclaim the mountain. His reasoning had been logical enough; his people had been devastated by the illness that plagued them, and their resources were few.

Yet when the dwarf had been asked of Smaug, and of the rumors that had been spread throughout the land, his entire demeanor changed. He refused to speak at all, claiming offense that Dwalin would insinuate he had propagated the false stories. He’d left in a huff, telling them that if they truly desired to know what was really happening in Erebor, they should see it with their own eyes. After that, he’d refused to meet with them, and had denied their request for additional supplies for the return home.

With their supplies dwindling and the winter snows closing in on them, they’d had no choice but to return home through the Grey Mountains, not getting a single glimpse of Erebor. It had vexed Dwalin greatly, of that much Fíli was positively certain, and he’d been even more distraught to come home and find that Thorin was gone.

It was strange, to say the least. In all of his dealings with Dain, Fíli had never been able to get a good read on him, to determine if he were trustworthy or not. His words spoke of one thing, but his actions often showed another. Fíli generally considered himself to be a good judge of character, but with Dain, he just couldn’t _tell_.

In the years since, they’d all settled into new routines. Fíli spent most of his days tending to the needs of the settlement with Balin’s assistance. When he could, which was not often at all, he trained or went out with his patrol. But all had not gone well within their home.

Thorin’s sudden departure had caused a great deal of unrest with the dwarrow, as none of them knew _why_ the rightful King Under the Mountain had abruptly fled. Rumors had flown in all directions, ranging from fears that he had willingly abandoned them to their doom, to gossip that he’d found a dwarrowdam worthy of his affections and had run away to be with her. Worse than those were the ones that spoke of his possible death. Fíli and Kíli, bound to secrecy, were unable to say anything to dispel the gossip, and it only served to magnify their own fears that Thorin could meet his end in the wilds and _never_ return home.

The doubt and despair caused by their uncle’s sudden departure had triggered an exodus from the settlement. As it were, nearly half of dwarrow that had previously resided within its protected walls had left. Their workforce, and by extension their resources, had started to dwindle. The settlement was _dying_ , of that much he was certain, but there was nothing he could do.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that it was _his_ fault. If he were supposed to be King of Erebor someday, the people would have to trust him to lead them through their hardships. But now he was too green, too inexperienced, and too weary. They had trusted Thorin, had been grateful to him for carving out a new place for them to thrive. They owed Thorin their _lives_ , but they owed him nothing. If he wanted to lead them, he needed to earn their respect, but he didn’t know _how_.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin interrupts his musings softly, a small but weary smile tugging at his lips. He is supposed to be studying the report on their food stores and making sure that their supplies will last them through the winter, but he cannot manage to keep his thoughts straight.

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, _too_ quickly; the easy, practiced lie slipping out before he even realizes it.

His old tutor gives him a knowing look. “I’ll finish looking over these. The mines should be closing up for the day soon; you may as well head on home.”

He manages to give the older dwarf a grateful smile, but he’s sure it looks more like a grimace than he wants it to. “Thank you, Mister Balin,” he says quietly as he gathers his things. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He heads to the entrance of the mines instead of going home. He’s eager to see his brother. He had violently opposed Kíli’s suggestion to go to work in the mines at first. It unsettled him deeply; his brother _hated_ to be trapped inside the mountain, and their _father_ …he couldn’t bear it, _wouldn’t_ bear it if he lost Kíli in the same way.

But it made _sense_. Kíli had reminded him that the patrols were more than capable of hunting enough game to feed the settlement, had reminded him that the true wealth of their people lied in what they could craft from stone and metal, and while Kíli wasn’t skilled at _making_ those treasures, he could learn to mine. He could _help_. Bofur had even offered to take Kíli on as his apprentice, as they toymaker had returned to the mines himself not long after Thorin left. There were few people he trusted with the care of his little brother, but Bofur was one of them that he trusted the most. He’d made the kindly dwarf _promise_ to protect his brother, and, while Fíli had no doubt that they toymaker would do the best he could, the mines were still an unpredictable and dangerous place where anything could happen.

The evening bell rings not long after he arrives, and slowly dwarves begin to trickle out of the mine entrance. It always makes him sad to see the miners when they leave; they always walk with shoulders hunched, weary from a long day of hard labor and covered in a layer of dust. Even Kíli and Bofur, both of whom usually exuded so much joy, looked beaten down at the end of their shifts.

A few of the dwarrow nod to him as they pass by, but he keeps his attention mostly focused on the stream of miners as they emerge, watching for his brother. Finally, just as doubt and worry start to gnaw at the corners of his mind, he spies them. He feels the weight on his shoulders lift away at the sight of his precious little brother. With everything else he has going on around him, with all the stresses of taking care of the settlement, with all the pressure he feels day in and day out, he still has Kíli.

He prays to the maker that he always will.

Kíli’s face brightens considerably when he spies him as well, and Fíli watches with a fond smile as he bids his farewell to Bofur and hastens his steps to greet him. Fíli gives a wave to the toymaker before gathering his brother into a tight embrace, pressing their foreheads together tenderly.

“Nadadith,” he murmurs softly, letting his tension slip away, drawing comfort from the one person he holds most precious in the entire world.

“Are you alright?” Kíli asks once he pulls away, the now ever-present concern evident in his gaze.

He manages to nod. “Yea,” he says. Another well-practiced lie that is transparent as glass.

Kíli frowns at him, but doesn’t push it. “Are you hungry? I was planning to go to the tavern.”

He nods in agreement. “I haven’t been there in ages,” he admits. “And Gloin will probably be there; I need to speak with him about that goblin camp near our border…”

“Nope,” Kíli interrupts, clasping him on the shoulders and steering him in the direction of the tavern. “No work tonight. Promise me,” he demands.

“You’re incorrigible,” he complains with a huff of laughter, smile widening when Kíli laughs with him. “Fine; no work,” he agrees. “Just ale and food and the company of my dusty little brother.”

He’s tired, yes, but it’s been ages since he was last able to spend time with his brother, so consumed he’d been with helping the settlement prepare for the winter ahead. He knows that Kíli is tired and weary as well, but he’s well aware of how precious their time together is, and he refuses to waste it.

In the end, losing a bit of sleep is a small place to pay for that comfort.

* * *

 

“And what of the goblins, then?” Gloin asks the next morning as he sits in the town hall, Gimli plopped to his right.

Fíli frowns as he thinks. He and Balin had tried to come up with a reasonable plan for weeks, but there wasn’t an option they had found that didn’t pose a substantial risk to their own troops. “What have the scouts found?”

Gloin sighs. “They’re growing in number,” he explains. “Probably trying to hole up in that cave for the winter. If we’re going to do something, it would have to be before the snows come.”

“How many are there?” Balin asks, flipping through some parchment, glassing slipping low on his nose.

“At least 200,” the Gimli says, and Fíli spits a curse. That’s more than the number of soldiers they have available.

“We’d be walking in outnumbered,” he laments quietly.

Gloin scoffs. “50 of our men could take out a pack that size with no trouble, if the timing was right,” he says assuredly.

“Don’t be hasty,” Balin interrupts, a slight bite to his voice to indicate his displeasure. “Sending 50 men into a goblin cave is suicide, and you know it.”

“But if we could lure them out –“

“Then we risk them coming here,” Fíli finishes, frowning at the thought. “And with nearly half our soldiers elsewhere, it would be too difficult to defend the wall.”

“What are you saying then?” Gloin snaps. “We leave them where they are? Let them continue to multiply so they can kill us in our homes?”

“I’m _saying_ that I don’t _know_ ,” Fíli snaps, agitation finally getting the best of him.

“Thorin would know,” Gloin mutters under his breath, but they both hear him anyway. Gimli casts him a sheepish, apologetic look.

“Have care how you speak,” Balin bites. “What did Dwalin suggest?”

Gloin frowns. “That we leave them until they show a threat.”

“Then it’s settled,” Fíli grumbles as he rubs a tired hand across his eyes. “If they show a threat and make themselves vulnerable, we’ll attack and stand our ground. We don’t have the means to go looking for trouble.”

The warrior sighs again, casting a wary look at the pair of them, eyes finally settling on Fíli. “I hope you’re right, laddie,” he says as he stands to leave.

“I hate this,” Fíli admits as soon as the door slams closed behind Gloin and Gimli. “It’s like…playing chess, only there are people’s _lives_ at stake.”

Balin lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It…it’s not easy, I’ll admit, laddie,” he says quietly. “But it is _necessary_. In your heart, you’ll want to protect everyone but…but you _can’t_. And that’s not your fault.”

Fíli chuckles a bitter little laugh. “That’s not very reassuring.”

“You do what helps the _most_ people. Sometimes that requires sacrifice,” he admits. “As long as you do what is _right_ , your people will stand by you.”

Fíli nods. “Has there been any word of Thorin?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Nothing yet, laddie,” the older dwarf says with a sigh, just as he has every other time he’s inquired.

“I was supposed to shadow him,” Fíli laments a moment later. “When I came of age, I was supposed to follow him, watch him, learn what he did and _how_ he did it, but that…what if that never happens?” He turns wide, worried eyes to Balin. “People are leaving because Thorin is gone and they don’t think I can lead them. What happens when no one is left?”

“That will never be,” Balin assures him. “Very few of our own people have left. The refugees of Erebor that settled here long ago have stayed loyal to you. And they will continue to.”

Fíli frowns, but knows he has to accept the dwarf’s wise words. It _was_ true, most of the dwarrow who had left were ones who joined the settlement after Thorin began the construction of the great halls, ones that had come to share in the supposed wealth of the King Under the Mountain. With the novelty of the king gone, they’d left and returned home as well.

“Go now, laddie,” Balin murmurs. “There’s nothing left for today that I can’t handle. Your brother is off for the day, I believe. You should spend time with him; it will help ease your mind.”

“He’s probably sleeping,” Fíli says, but he doesn’t hesitate to begin gathering his things to head home.

“As I suspect you should be,” Balin points out with a knowing smile. “Off with you. Even kings and princes need a respite now and again.”

“Thank you,” he say sincerely as he turns to leave, casting a grateful smile at the dwarf who’d become like a father to him during Thorin’s absence. “Truly.”

Balin just waves a hand to shoo him out. “Off with you, laddie!”

Fíli walks quickly through the mountain, keen on getting home. It’s been so long since he had a break, and here Balin had given him nearly an entire afternoon. He wondered if he could persuade his brother to venture out into the woods (though Dwalin would have to come with them, as Balin had become rather insistent that the heirs of Durin have a trustworthy guard with them whenever they leave the settlement walls), or perhaps they could spar in the practice arena. His head overflows with ideas, and eagerness and excitement bubble up within him.

Until, that is, he opens the door to their home to find Kíli hunched over the dining table, fast asleep.

He knew working in the mines was exhausting. He saw it most every day when Kíli came home, covered in dust and aching everywhere. It was hard, backbreaking work that he wasn’t yet used to, and Fíli had been foolish to think his brother would want to romp and play about like when they were children.

They’re _not_ children. They haven’t been for a long while.

He wraps his arms around his brother from behind, leaning forward to rest his chin on Kíli’s shoulder. “Come on, sleepy head,” he murmurs softly. “You’ll be even more sore tomorrow if you sleep like this.”

Kíli takes in a deep breath and instinctively moves closer to his brother. “Don’ wan’a get up,” he grumbles softly.

“I’m sleepy too,” Fíli admits. “We just need a more comfortable place to nap.”

The brunet whines and grumbles a bit more as he gets to his feet, but he still leans heavily against Fíli’s side as they stumble back into their bedroom (Thorin had insisted their home be built with _three_ rooms but they’d shared their entire life and they weren’t going to stop now) and collapse gracelessly onto Kíli’s bed. Somehow, Fíli manages to toe off his boots and fling a blanket over the top of the two of them, and Kíli falls straight back asleep.

The comfort of his bed coupled with his brother’s steady breathing leads Fíli to sleep straight after.

* * *

 

He wakes to the feeling of Kíli pressing closer to his side, and he can tell from the hitch in his brother’s breathing that he’d had _the_ nightmare again.

“Same one?” he asks anyway, bringing one hand up to comb through Kíli’s hair and using the other to gather him close.

Kíli just nods and tucks his head in against Fíli’s neck as he tries to calm his breathing down.

It had started not long after Thorin had vanished, before Balin had returned and made them aware of the situation. Kíli would have horribly vivid dreams of their uncle meeting an untimely and cruel end, and not _knowing_ where he was or if he was all right had made them worse.

“It’s just a dream, Kee,” he soothes quietly.

Kíli barely whispers in reply. “But what if it’s not?”

“We can’t…” he chokes out, finding himself forced to swallow around the lump that leaps into his throat. “We can’t think like that. There would be news. We would know.”

“I hate this,” his brother sighs.

Fíli presses a kiss against his forehead. “So do I,” he admits.

They fall into a heavy, though not uncomfortable silence, tangled up in their embrace like they’re children again. Eventually, Fíli’s thoughts start to gnaw at him in such a way that he has to speak them aloud.

“What if I can’t do this?” he murmurs softly, self doubt tainting his voice. “Everything…everything is _wrong_. People are looking to me and depending on me but I don’t…I don’t know what to _do_. How am I supposed to know what to do?” he whines quietly into the dark.

“Fili…”

“I’m not…I don’t have what it takes to be the King of Erebor,” he continues, ignoring Kíli’s quiet protest. “I…it seems like a terrible burden to bear.”

“That’s probably why Thorin protected you from it,” his brother says quietly. “He showed you little bits and pieces but he didn’t overwhelm you with it _all_. He didn’t…he didn’t want it to be like this,” he quakes. “He told me once that he didn’t…he didn’t want you to be like him. To be so young when the time came for you to lead us.”

“I’m not a leader,” he scoffs. How could Kíli think such a thing? All he’d done was run this settlement to ruin. The people weren’t _following_ him, they were fleeing as fast as they could.

“I’ve followed you my whole life,” Kíli murmurs softly, barely above a whisper. “And I’ll follow you to the end of it.”

The quiet confession stuns him into silence, and for a long moment all he can do is stare at the top of his brother’s head. He _hates_ when Kíli mentions anything about his inevitable end; it tears at his heart in a way that he’s never been able to put into words. Even if they live to be three hundred years old, older than all their kin, he doesn’t think he could stomach the thought of being without his brother.

“Thank you,” he whispers eventually, grateful for the quiet assurance of his brother.

Kíli hums softly from his side, and they fall into a companionable silence once more. Idly, he begins to wonder how late they’ve slept, or if they will still have time to spend with one another before they are sucked back into their duties tomorrow. Kíli’s breathing evens out, and for a while he assumes his little brother has fallen back asleep. He contemplates whether or not he should wake him, eventually deciding not to. His brother needs his rest.

“What do you think it’s like?” Kíli asks, not a second after Fíli had assumed he was slumbering away once more, startling him out of his thoughts. “Erebor, I mean.”

“You’ve heard all the stories I have…grand halls of marble, veins of gold running through the walls, deep mines of mithril and gemstones,” he murmurs, closing his eyes to try an envision it. “The only sketch Thorin has left is of the throne, but I can picture most of it.”

He feels the smile that stretches across Kíli’s lips. “I can see you up there one day, nadad.”

Fíli chuckles lightly. “I can’t,” he admits. “Me on the throne would mean that Thorin…”

“You’re older, and greyed. Wiser, but still…still you,” Kíli continues softly. “Another great king of Durin’s line.”

Fíli falls quiet once more, and lets the image take further shape in his mind. He sees Kíli at his side, beard and braids and all, a proper prince and general of Erebor, and though he’s aged as well, he still has the same mirthful smile.

“Do you think it will happen one day?” Kíli asks a while later, sounding wholly unsure.

Fíli shrugs, making a noncommittal noise as he does. It depends on Thorin, honestly, but he doesn’t want to breathe that out loud, knowing full well how worried Kíli was about their uncle. If something happen to Thorin, then the burden of reclaiming the throne would fall to _him_.

He didn’t know if he could do it, if he could risk life and limb for a home he’d never known. He resolutely turns his thoughts in a different direction, unwilling to think of such a tragedy befalling their family. Thorin was fine; he would return as soon as he was able. He would reclaim the mountain and they would have their homeland once more. Fíli didn’t need to fret on such things.

Thorin _had_ to come home. He didn’t know what they would do if he didn’t.

* * *

 

He takes another deep breath, relishing in the smell of the fresh air as it rushes into his lungs. It’s been _ages_ since he’s been out on patrol, longer still since he’s been able to be out in the forest. He was more than happy to help in the mines, truly he was, but he _hated_ how he was stuck underground for days on end.

Proper for a dwarf or not, Kíli needed the open fields and the trees. The second he stepped out of the mountain he felt lighter. Free.

They were mostly out looking for game, hoping to build up their stores before the first snows came. The weather was cool enough that elk had moved into the area, and bringing down one of those would feed several families through the winter.

“Why don’t you go on up ahead a bit and scout for any game?” Dwalin calls from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’ve got keener eyes than the rest of us.”

He flashes his weapons master a fond smile as the rest of the patrol slows to a stop, preparing to make camp for lunch.

“Just don’t go too far. Not outta earshot,” he adds, fixing the lad with a meaningful look and squeezing his shoulder lightly. They had gone in the opposite direction of the known goblin camp, but that still didn’t mean there were no dangers around. He knew Dwalin took his responsibility to look after him very seriously.

“I won’t,” he promises, clapping his own had on Dwalin’s shoulder in return.

He relishes in the freedom to move ahead, but he stays mindful of Dwalin’s warning. He doesn’t want to older dwarf to worry more than necessary. He eventually finds a low branch suitable for climbing, and he swings his lithe body up onto it before he rapidly scales the tree. With the higher vantage point, he can see for miles.

He sits silently, eyes patiently scanning the woods below for any sign of wildlife.

He spots something in the distance – a rustle in some underbrush.

Stealthily he adjusts his position in the tree, dropping to a lower branch to get a better view of the creature. He silently draws his bow and focuses his attention on the fidgeting underbrush. He frowns. It’s not…moving like an animal should. The motions are rough, jerky, almost as though it were injured.

With a sigh, he slips his bow back over his shoulder. Injured or sick game wouldn’t provide good meat. He’d be better off waiting for something more substantial. He still continues to watch the rustling, just in case, and when the creature finally stumbles out of the underbrush, he can’t believe his eyes.

“Thorin…” he stammers.

He nearly falls from the tree in his haste to climb down and all but sprints through the woods as he rushes toward his uncle. He _is_ moving like he’s injured, and it makes a cold lump of fear settle in his throat.

“Uncle!” he calls, desperation clinging to his tone.

Thorin’s head snaps up, a brief flash of fear quickly replaced with relief as he sinks to his knees. “Kíli…my boy…” he mumbles.

He skids to a stop at his uncle’s side, dismayed at the sight of blood leaking from his temple and a darker stain of blood on his abdomen. “Are you alright? What happened?” he asks in a rush, arms wrapping around the older dwarf when he sags against his side.

“Goblins,” he groans out. “I…there was a band of them.”

Kíli curses under his breath when Thorin sways dangerously, his head falling heavily against Kíli’s shoulder. “No, no, no; you stay with me,” he demands, but his uncle falls slack against him. “Thorin!”

Panic wells up within him and he shakes the older dwarf, trying to get him to wake. He’s lost too much blood, and he needs to get him back to the settlement as soon as possible. With a huff, he tries to pull Thorin onto his back, but he’s not strong enough to carry him, even with all of the work he’s been doing in the mines.

“Dwalin!” he shouts at the top of his lungs.

It’s barely a minute later when Dwalin come bursting through the woods, battle axe drawn and ready to defend his prince, but the axe falls from his numbed fingers as soon as he realizes what is happening. The other patrolmen fall into line behind him, battle cries falling silent when they take in the sight in front of them.

“He’s injured,” Kíli explains, unable to keep the panic out of his voice. “I can’t carry him.”

Dwalin nods once and drops to his knees. The two of them work together to get him secured onto the warrior’s back, and the patrol falls into step in front of them to guide them back to the settlement. They move quickly, though Dwalin is careful to avoid jostling his cargo and Kíli frets constantly beside him.

“Get my brother,” Kíli snaps at one of the patrolmen once they are safe inside the settlement walls, nerves worn thin at the sight of his uncle in such a dire state. “Tell him to come to the House of Healing.”

“He’s in meetings with the governor…”the patrolman protests.

“Now!” he demands, and the patrolman nods quickly before rushing off to the town hall.

“There’s my prince,” Dwalin says with a tight-lipped smile, and Kíli manages a small one in return.

They make it to the infirmary in no time at all, Kíli barking orders at the patrolmen to ease their passage. He sends two ahead to warn Oin and get a space ready to tend to Thorin’s injuries. He sends another to fetch Ori to explain the situation so he can relay the news to Balin.

Oin is ready for them when they arrive, and they hurriedly lay Thorin down on one of the beds and let the healer get to work. Dwalin wraps a comforting arm around his shoulders as Oin peels away Thorin’s tunic, revealing a large amount of bruising and a rather nasty looking gash across his torso. He stifles a sob by biting at his hand, and Dwalin tugs him closer.

“It’s not so bad, laddie,” Oin assures him. “Looks worse than it is, but it’s not deep. He just lost a lot of blood is all. I’ll have him right as rain in no time; I promise you.”

Kíli sighs, and his entire body sags with relief. “Bless you, laddie,” Dwalin murmurs, voice thick with emotion as he presses a kiss against the top of his head. “Bless you for finding him.”

* * *

 

Thorin sleeps for two days. Fíli and Kíli keep a constant vigil over him, as Balin had managed to get them both excused for their duties until their uncle was back on his feet. They’d both been incredibly grateful for the respite and had enjoyed the time spent together, even with the heavy doubt that clung to them while Thorin continued to rest.

And while Fíli waits, he can’t sleep, despite the fact that he’s bone tired.

There are too many different emotions swirling though his mind. Relief, that Kíli had found their uncle in time. Gratitude, that Dwalin had been there to carry him home, and that Oin had treated him so that he expected to make a full, speedy recovery. Fear, for what was to come next. Anxiety, for how the townspeople would react. Nervousness, at what Thorin would think of what he had done while he was gone.

But above all of that, he felt love. Love for his little brother who slumbered away, pressed tightly against his side, and love for his uncle, who had yet to wake, but was looking healthier with each passing second.

He adjusts his position on the settee, causing Kíli to grumble slightly and curl closer to his warmth, but he doesn’t wake. Fíli studies Thorin’s face, and even now, weakened and asleep, he looks as majestic and regal as he ever has. Their Uncle carries himself like a king; he always had. His gait alone was enough to inspire their people to follow him, through anything, and Fíli wondered if he would ever achieve that. He wanted to be a king they could depend on, but he was just as awed by Thorin’s quiet strength as the rest of their people. It was inconceivable for him to think that he could ever come _close_ to comparing to Thorin.

His uncle’s brow furrows, and his fingers twitch against the sheets.

“Thorin?” he calls tentatively, reaching forward to grasp his hand gently.

Thorin squeezes it back. “Fíli,” he rasps out, eyes still closed. Kíli jerks awake at the sound, eyes widening when he realizes what is happening.

“Uncle!” he whisper-shouts happily.

A small smile crosses Thorin’s lips. “Both of my boys,” he murmurs, before a rough cough cuts off anything else he wishes to say. Kíli is on his feet in an instant, hurriedly moving across the room to fill a cup of water and press it to the older dwarf’s mouth.

Thorin gratefully drinks his fill, then opens his eyes to regard the pair. “It does my heart good to see you both well,” he admits.

“It does mine greater,” Kíli whispers, reaching forward to squeeze his hand as well. “Missed you so much.”

Fíli nods in agreement. “We we’re so worried,” he confesses softly. “I mean, we…we understood why you left, but still…”

“We didn’t know,” Kíli finishes, his voice barely above a whisper.

‘”I am sorry,” Thorin replies quietly. “I needed to keep you safe.”

* * *

 

“Fíli,” Thorin calls, just as they are about to depart the House of Healing. “Stay for a while. We have much we need to discuss. You’ll have to catch me up on what I missed in my absence.”

Kíli grumbles something under his breath about wanting to stay too, but he doesn’t protest. “I’ll let Mister Balin know,” he promises, voice sullen like a petulant child. Fíli can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips at his little brother’s antics.

“Come, Fíli. Sit,” Thorin commands, and he is quick to do as he’s told. It’s been three days since Thorin woke up, and he was well on the mend, so much so that he had started to become annoyed with Oin’s regular fussing about his health. It was clear that he was ready to get back into the swing of things, but Oin wanted to keep an eye on him to watch for a potential infection. “We have much to discuss,” he repeats, his tone unreadable.

“I fear I may not have done a good job in your absence, Uncle,” he admits softly, shame coloring his cheeks as he comes to sit beside him.

Thorin gives him a small smile. “Balin has already informed me of what transpired while I was away,” he says. “You’ve done better than I could have imagined.”

Fíli gasps in surprise. “But…” Why did he want to speak with him if he already knew what all had happened?

“I am quite proud of you. You did well,” his uncle elaborates.

His cheeks flush once more and he finds himself staring at his boots. “Thank you.”

“But I am afraid I have not been completely honest with you.”

At that, Fíli’s head snaps up, and he regards his uncle with a confused expression.

“Say nothing of this to your brother,” Thorin demands, fixing him with a stern look.

Fíli frowns, not liking the idea of keeping secrets from his brother, but nods anyway. “I won’t,” he adds, when Thorin doesn’t continue. “I swear.”

Thorin nods and swallows thickly. “It is true that I fled to Bree to try and throw the orcs off of my trail. Balin came with me so we could get my affairs in order before I left on my own. But there was someone waiting for me there.”

Fíli frowns hard. What had happened? “Who?” he whispers.

“Gandalf,” Thorin replies. “The wizard. He’d gone to scout around Erebor some years prior, and he had some information to share.” He sighs, eyes fixed to some point on the wall as he speaks. “He thinks that the time has come for us to reclaim Erebor. Signs from the prophecy have begun to appear. He urged me once before to form a company of our kin to travel to the mountain, and now…now it is time to see it done.”

He can scarcely believe it. Erebor had always been a dream, but now…could it really happen?

“I’ve given a lot of thought to who I would have in my company. Dwalin and Balin, obviously. Oin as our healer, and Gloin as another warrior. Nori for his cunning, and Dori for his strength. And…and you, as my heir,” he finishes quietly.

Fíli stares at him is utter disbelief. “Me?”

“Eight companions,” Thorin continues, reaching to the table beside him and picking up a piece of parchment, before handing it to him with shaking hands.

“A contract,” he observes, reading over it carefully. It invites him to join Thorin and his company on a quest to reclaim Erebor, promising him an equal share in the treasure if they are successful. “I…do you really think I’m ready?”

Thorin reaches over and grabs his hand, squeezing it gently. “I have no doubts that you are.”

His eyes rove over the parchment once more, a small sense of dread filling him. “What about…what about Kíli?”

“I will ask Bofur to let him stay with them at the inn,” Thorin says assuredly. “He must not know of this, Fíli.”

“When will you tell him?” he asks quietly. It’s what he wants, really, to keep Kíli at home and safe, but he doesn’t want to keep secrets; he doesn’t want this to hurt him.

“We will leave at different times and reconvene in Bree,” he explains. “Only once we all depart from there will I send word to him.”

Fíli shakes his head. “Thorin, _no_. That will crush him.”

Thorin sighs heavily, looking weary and aged beyond his years. “You know your brother. If he is aware of the quest before we leave, he’ll prepare. He’ll track us and follow us. It…it is not ideal, I agree, but it will keep him safe.”

“I can’t lie to him, Uncle. I’ve _never_ lied to him,” he protests quietly, even though he sees the value in Thorin’s words. “How do we know he won’t follow us anyway?”

“That’s why I want to keep him with Bofur,” he explains. “There are few people that I trust to keep a watchful eye on your brother.”

It’s Fíli’s exact same reasoning for agreeing to let Kíli go to work in the mines, and he finds himself unable to come up with a rebuttal. Aside from Dwalin, Bofur is the _only_ person he would trust with this task. “I…alright. I don’t like this, but…I won’t…I won’t tell him.”

Thorin gives him a pride-filled smile. “And will you join me?” he asks, sounding suddenly unsure.

He’s giving him the choice, Fíli realizes. He’s giving him the option to say no, to stay with his brother instead. But this…this was his _destiny_. It was his birthright to become King Under the Mountain one day, no matter how conflicted he felt about that responsibility. And Thorin had sacrificed so, _so_ much for him in his life, had put so many of his own plans and dreams on hold in order to raise him and his brother on his own.

He can’t say no, not to this.

“Of course I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The board is set. The pieces are moving.


	23. Eighty-One and Seventy-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – I am so, so sorry that this one took forever. Real life exploded in a lot of ways, both terrible and fantastic. However, I am back on track now, and since my feels were thoroughly destroyed by BotFA, I need to finish my story and share it with you.
> 
> Warnings: Angst. Mention of character death.

He discretely grabs Fíli shoulder as the lad files into their dining room with the others, pulling him calmly to a stop. “Are you sure your brother is sufficiently distracted?” he asks, voice scarcely above a whisper, nodding in greeting to Dori as the other dwarf passes.

Fíli nods, but he doesn’t meet his gaze, eyes instead watching as the dwarrow settle around the table. Thorin can feel the guilt that weighs on his heir’s shoulders, and, not for the first time, hates himself for putting the boy in this impossible position. “He should be,” he answers just as quietly. “Missus Eila sent him off to run errands and things for the tavern. Bombur made a hefty list for him.”

He hums quietly, genuinely pleased with this bit of information, before releasing his nephew’s arm and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, my boy. I know this has not been easy on you,” he murmurs.

Fíli gives him a smile that’s more of a grimace before excusing himself to join the rest of the dwarrow that have gathered around their modest table, still never meeting his gaze. Thorin _is_  sorry, honestly well and truly is, but he hasn’t been able to find the words to express as much to Fíli. With a weary sigh, Thorin follows their last guest, the wizard Gandalf, into the dining room, taking his own seat at the head of the table.

There is a brief bit of chaos as they gather round and vie for chairs; all of them are practically vibrating with excitement, even Fíli, though he is substantially more subdued than the others. With a soft, fond smile he regards the eleven dwarves and one wizard that have gathered with him in his home.

His  _company_. The dwarves that will travel with him to reclaim Erebor, their _home_.

Gandalf, their grand orchestrator, sits observing the company as well, contentedly puffing his pipe as he regards them with a mildly amused expression. Fíli sits to the wizard’s left, pointedly ignoring Thorin’s gaze and watching the rest of the company converse across the table.

There was Dwalin and Balin, of _course_ , who had as much cause for reclaiming the mountain as he did. They had been at his side through all of their trials since that accursed dragon came, and he would not dare depart the Blue Mountains without them. The three of them had been planning this quest for as long as he could remember, and now, they were at the cusp of their journey. Dwalin catches his eye and gives him a reassuring smile, followed by a swift nod.

Then, there was Dori, with his impressive strength, and Nori, with his quick wit and cunning (and Gandalf had insisted they needed a burglar).  Ori had been a surprise addition, at Nori’s request no less, but they _did_ need a scribe, and he _was_ of age and capable of making the decision for himself. Thorin knew that it sat ill with Dori, but the eldest brother had yet to make an attempt to deter the lad, as Ori was more than excited to be included amongst the company. Oin would accompany them as their healer, and Gloin had agreed to join them once he’d assured safe lodging for his son in his absence.

There was also Bofur, Bombur, and Bifur, who he hadn’t meant to include in this quest. They were natives to the blue mountain, and Bofur had sworn to look after Kíli during their absence, but he slowly began to realize that he _needed_ them, more so when Gandalf insisted that their company was too small to hope to be successful. Though Bifur could no longer speak, he was a skilled fighter, one whom Thorin had been able to rely on in the past. Bombur was as tenacious as any dwarf he’d ever met, and with the added bonus of his cooking skills it had been hard to discredit him simply due to his size. Finally there was Bofur, who he’d slowly come to think of as a member of their family, as his loyalty was unmatched by any outside of his kin.

Thorin knew this was the fact that discomforted Fíli the most. He had been barely on board with the plan when Kíli was going to be under Bofur’s care and, as a result, had been extremely distraught will Thorin’s alternative plan for Kíli to stay at the Inn, with Eila, as she had already consented to looking after Gloin’s son Gimli. Thorin didn’t much like it either, but he had no other choice. Not if he meant to keep Kíli safe.

“Is that all of us, then?” Balin asks, pulling him from his revere. Thorin gives him a small nod, allowing him to lead their meeting for the time being. Their goal for this evening is to get the contracts signed and finalize their travel plans to Bree.

“Let’s get all of this taken care of so we can eat!” Bombur says good-naturedly, drawing a hearty chuckle from the group.

“Quite right, laddie,” Balin murmurs as he produces the contracts from his satchel, distributing them around the room. “Now, we are a company of twelve, bound for Erebor…”

“Well what about Mister Gandalf?” Dori interrupts, sending a wary glance to the wizard. “Won’t you be coming with us?”

Gandalf just smiles and waves his hand dismissively. “I will accompany you as far as I am able to, Master Dwarf, and give you guidance for when I cannot. Though I need not be bound by any contract. I do not seek part of the treasure for myself. I only wish to see Smaug dethroned and the mountain reclaimed.”

The assembled dwarves cast each other wary, curious looks, until another kindly smile from the old wizard sets them at ease. Surely several of them were thinking that the old wizard might change his tune at the sight of the riches of Erebor, though none of them commented on.

“Of course, read through it all before you sign,” Balin continues, relieving the slight tension that had settled into the room. “Main thing is that you will receive one twelfth of whatever treasure remains in the mountain if we are successful.”

A satisfied murmur flutters through the company, before Gandalf’s steady voice cuts in. “Though I still think your company is too small,” he says thoughtfully. “Perhaps there are a few others you would have accompany you?”

Thorin shakes his head. “There is no one else,” he says with an air of finality, though a few of the company squirm uncomfortably at his declaration.

“I still think it worthwhile to find an additional burglar, no offense to Master Nori, of course,” the wizard continues when the ginger-haired dwarf shoots him a particularly nasty look.

“I do not trust anyone else for that task,” he replies gruffly. Clearly, Gandalf did not understand just what the Arkenstone _meant_ for his people.

“I may have someone in mind, someone who could easily slip past Smaug’s defenses,” Gandalf utters cryptically. “Though we can discuss this matter at a later time.”

“Very well,” Balin murmurs after a moment of silence, once again diffusing the tension that had settled over the room. “In any event, it would take a majority vote by the company to allow any other members in, as it would lessen your profits,” he explains, and he’s met with nodding heads and murmurs of agreement. “The most important thing is that this quest is of the utmost secrecy. You cannot breathe a word of your whereabouts or our end goal to anyone, not even family.” At that, he sends a pointed glance to Fíli, who is idly picking at the hem of his tunic. “You may tell them that we’re headed to the Iron Hills to meet with Dain, but nothing more.”

Fíli reluctantly nods, frown still marring his normally cheery features. For the millionth time, Thorin hates that _he_ is the one who put it there.

“Are we all clear on this?” Thorin asks, clearing his throat to hide the tremor in his voice. When he is met with approval from the rest of the company, he nods at Balin to continue. “There are too many who would seek the wealth or Erebor for themselves, and would kill us without a second thought to seize it.” He quickly makes eye contact with each of them (save for Fíli, who is still rather interested in his tunic sleeve), reinforcing the necessity of secrecy. He can see no reason to distrust any of them, which greatly puts his mind at ease.

“Now, Ori, fetch me that map,” Balin says, and Thorin can see the pressure lift from Fíli’s shoulders at the change of discussion.

They’ve been at it for several hours; the contracts have been signed, and their travel plans for Bree are nearly finalized. Balin has finishing splitting them up into smaller groups to avoid arousing suspicion when they begin to depart. They lapse into little more than quiet murmurs as they look over their maps, when Thorin hears it – the quiet, damning creak of their front door being pushed open.

Fíli’s head snaps up, face going startlingly pale as he frantically looks to his uncle, confirming that he’d heard the sound as well. None of the others seem to have noticed, but they are not as attuned to the sounds of their home. For a second, he manages to convince himself that he and Fíli simply misheard, or even that, somehow, they’d merely imagined the same sound, until Kíli pokes his head into the room, the easy smile slipping from his face when he takes in its occupants.

“What’s all this?” he quietly calls from the door.

The room falls completely silent as the rest of the company turns to regard their intruder with varying levels of shock. Bofur goes just as pale as Fíli, before averting his gaze to the floor. Several of them look to Thorin and the wizard, unwilling to speak first, lest they say the wrong thing.

“Uncle?” Kíli tries again as he steps farther into the room, and Thorin knows he must be able to see the maps and contracts strewn about the table, that he must be able to guess their purpose.

“This does not concern you, Kíli,” he manages to say, throat constricting with guilt. He resolutely looks up at the lad as he speaks, determined to put up a strong front and hold his ground, but immediately wishes he hadn’t. Kíli jerks back as if he has been hit, and he can do nothing more but watch the lad’s face crumple as he realizes the implication of Thorin’s words. Desperately, he looks to all the others in the company, but no one meets his gaze.

“Fíli?” he all but whispers, disbelief coloring his shaking voice. His heir only squeezes his eyes tightly shut and lets his head fall, chin coming to rest on his chest, guilt and grief and regret rolling off of him in waves.

Thorin steels himself; he expected that Kíli would be angry if he found out about their quest and fight to be included. He’d _prepared_ for Kíli to be hostile, had even _rehearsed_ what he would say so that his voice wouldn’t crack and he wouldn’t cave to the lad’s desire to accompany them.

He wasn’t prepared for _this_ , wasn’t prepared for the way Kíli seemed to fold in on himself, as if the realization of being left behind weighed so heavily upon him that he could hardly bear it. He wasn’t prepared to see the quiet betrayal shining in his nephew’s eyes as clear as day, or to hear the softly whispered ‘oh,’ as he backed out of the room.

He wasn’t prepared for how the slamming of the door as Kíli fled their home felt like a knife to his heart.

They sit in stunned silence for several long moments, with Fíli’s lightly panicked breathing as the only sound echoing in the room. Dwalin lifts a hand and places it on the boy’s shoulder, but Fíli immediately shrugs it off with a frustrated little huff.

“I think we could all use a break,” Gandalf declares quietly, just as Dwalin mutters, “I should go after ‘im.” Both are met with soft murmurs of agreement from the rest of the dwarrow, and Fíli pushes back his chair, the screech of it along the floor echoing overloud in the room. He wastes no time in rising from his seat and quickly pushing past the others, retreating to the room he shares with his brother.

The rest of them gradually rise from the table, some of them venturing into the kitchen for snacks, or into the sitting room to speak quietly with one another. Dwalin claps a hand on Thorin’s shoulder as he passes him, and Thorin can see that his friend feels just as guilty about this entire situation as he does. “You take care of him,” the warrior murmurs, tipping his head in the direction of the lad’s bedroom. “I’ll tend to Kíli. I have a feeling I know where he’s gone.”

Thorin finds himself unable to do anything but nod in agreement, still in shock at Kíli’s reaction.

And for the first time, he wonders if his decision to exclude his youngest nephew was wrong.

* * *

 

Kíli walks through the halls in a daze, struggling to process what he has seen. The walls of the mountain feel tight around him, so he drags one hand along the cool surface of the stone to keep himself from imagining the walls closing in on him. His chest feels tight, his clothes overly warm, and he very much wants to cry, but he won’t. Not here, where there are too many prying eyes to see him.

They were leaving him. _All_ of them. Every last dwarf that he had come to love and view as a member of his family. They were _leaving_ him and having secret meetings about it. He’d been an unwanted guest in his own _home_.

Thorin had spoken of the quest all of Kíli’s life, but it had always seemed like nothing more than a distant eventuality. He’d just _assumed_ that he and Fíli would be older, seasoned warriors by the time the quest happened, that it would be an obvious choice for the both of them to travel by their Uncle’s side. Even still, the quest had constantly been there, glimmering on the horizon, if only too far away to be reached. They were waiting for signs. They were waiting for help. They were always waiting for _something_ to signal that the time had come.

 _Maybe they were never waiting_ , a darker part of his mind sneers at him. _Maybe that was just a lie to keep you in the dark._

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. Fíli wouldn’t lie to him. Fíli _never_ lied to him.

But he _had_ , hadn’t he? His brother hadn’t even looked at him when he’d stumbled into their kitchen. Fíli’s shoulders had stayed hunched with shame the entire time.

It hurts, far more than he wanted to admit. How could they? How could they _all_ agree to leave him here alone? How could his uncle choose to bring _Ori_ , of all dwarrow, and not him? How could Mister Bofur, who always looked after him when Thorin had to travel, decide to leave him on his own? How could Fíli _lie_ to him?

Did they really think so little of him?

His numbed legs carry him out of the halls, into the mockingly bright sunlight outside. The marketplace bustles with activity, and several dwarrow fix him with odd looks as he passes. He makes his way to the wall without anyone approaching him (several dwarves hastily skitter out of his way), until he reaches the guard standing watch. Inwardly, he curses; he’s still not supposed to leave the settlement on his own.

“I’m just going to check the snares,” he mumbles, suddenly terrified that he won’t be able to _leave_ and he’ll have nowhere to go but back home. “Mister Dwalin said it was alright,” he lies. “I’m not going far.”

The guard, a dwarf that he doesn’t know, but recognizes from Fíli’s patrol, eyes him critically for a moment, before waving him through. “Haven’t seen any orcs or goblins out in ages, but stay on your guard,” he urges.

Kíli nods as he passes, managing to utter some semblance of ‘thank you,’ before retreating passed the tree line. The pressure on his chest lessens the second he’s under the cover of the trees, but his hold over his emotions falters. He moves his legs faster, not quite running, as he all but stumbles through the woods, eventually reaching one of the many streams that crisscross through the forest.

He collapses onto an outcropping of rocks that juts out over the stream, his legs finally giving out and refusing to carry him any farther.

His breath comes in harsh, ragged gasps. How _could_ they? Was he really such a _burden_?

He must be.

His tears come fast and unbidden, his tenuous control over his emotions snapping now that he has found solitude.

He chokes out a broken sob as all of his fears came to light. He is nothing more than Thorin’s burden, the lesser heir to Fíli’s golden prince. Unwanted. Unloved. Fit to be abandoned and left behind. Left _alone_. Unwelcome in his own home.

He wants to scream, but he knows he cannot. It would attract the attention of the guard, and by nightfall all would know what a sniveling, useless coward he was. With a keening whine, he folds in on himself, collapsing against the cool, moist stone, biting one hand to keep himself from screaming out his anguish.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_! He had worked so hard, done so much to prove himself worthy, but he was still…nothing.

He hears the snap of a twig, but he doesn’t start or panic. He knows that gait, knows the cadence of those strides, and doesn’t have to look to see Dwalin approaching him. “Come here, laddie,” the warrior says once he kneels beside him, and Kíli feels strong hands lifting him and pulling him up against a broad chest. Weakly, he pushes and tries to get away, a frustrated noise scraping out of his throat. Dwalin is _leaving_ him. They’re all leaving him.

“No,” he grinds out pitifully, futility trying to push away, but the shock of his afternoon and the aftermath of his crying fit have left him too weak to even budge himself from Dwalin’s strong grip. “No,” he whimpers again, half-heartedly ponding his fist against the warrior’s chest. “You’re leaving me. Just _go_.”

“No,” Dwalin refuses. “No, I need you to listen to me,” he pleads, and Kíli doesn’t miss the way his voice breaks. “There are some things you need to know, laddie. Some things you need to understand.” The warrior holds him tightly and rocks him until the worst of his tears have subsided. With a sigh, Dwalin produces a handkerchief from his pocket, and dips it into the cool water of the stream before gently wiping it across Kíli’s face.

All Kíli can do is sit there, leaned against his weapons master’s chest, numbed to everything but the dull ache in his chest. Dwalin loves him, he knows. He loves both him and his brother as if they were his own sons, as shown in rare, tender moments of affection like this one. It makes the ache in his heart double; he’d be happier if Dwalin would treat him like he was nothing.

“I promise you, laddie,” he continues a moment later, voice hushed and quiet in the forest. “No one _wants_ you to be left here alone.”

 Kíli scoffs at that and brings a hand up to rub at his nose. “If no one wants it then why are you all still planning to leave?” he asks, voice sounding like a bitter wreck.

“You don’t know what you are,” Dwalin all but whispers, voice barely audible over the stream.

Curious, Kíli shifts and breaks free from their embrace, looking at Dwalin’s face apprehensively. “What do you mean?”

Dwalin doesn’t look at him. His gaze stays focused on the rushing waters of the stream as he thoughtfully chews his lower lip, clearly warring with himself. “What do you know of spares?” he finally asks.

Kíli frowns, remembering an incident with the dwarf lord of the Iron Hills so long ago. “Dain called me that,” he says softly. “The first time I met him. I didn’t know what it meant. I asked Fíli but he said he didn’t know either.” He sees the angry tick in Dwalin’s jaw, remembering how angry the dwarf had been at Dain’s antics that day. “What…what does it mean?”

“It means,” Dwalin begins, “that you are the second heir to the throne.” He pauses, appearing to war with himself once more. Kíli sits quietly, small sense of dread filling him. He hadn’t thought much on it, but apparently it really meant something, and by the look of his weapons master’s face, it meant something _bad_.

“Mister Dwalin…” he prompts quietly when the warrior does not continue for several long moments. “What does it mean?”

Dwalin sighs, and Kíli can see the sheen of unshed tears over his eyes. “It means that your life is meant to be forfeit,” he explains, voice breaking once more. “It means that, once you come of age, you swear an oath to protect your prince and king with life and limb. You are never meant to sit on the throne of Erebor; you are meant to die to protect it.”

Kíli sits shock still as all the puzzle pieces click into place, staring at Dwalin with his mouth agape.

“Thorin fears that, to bring you on this quest, you would have to fulfill that oath, as Frerin did so many years ago,” Dwalin elaborates. “We’ve no idea what we could encounter on the road, what we could encounter once we reach the mountain. You are safer here.”

Kíli shakes his head. “No,” he whispers fiercely. “No! If it’s my duty to protect them then that’s where I _belong_ , Dwalin. By their sides.”

To his surprise, Dwalin smiles, a strange little smile that is equal parts pride and sadness. “I know,” he agrees, before reaching out and threading his fingers though Kíli’s hair, pulling him close and pressing their foreheads together tenderly. “That’s exactly where you _should_ be, though none of us have the heart to put you there.” Dwalin gives the back of his head a gentle squeeze. “You have no idea how much you mean to Thorin. To your brother. To _me_ ,” he continues, tone soft. “And we are a selfish lot, you see. None of us will say to bring you with us even though we know that is where you belong.”

“Mister Dwalin…” he murmurs, mind still reeling from the warrior’s confession. In his heart, he knows he would be _honored_ to give his life so that his brother or uncle would survive. They were his entire world; they were all he _had_. He could understand why they were resistant, however, and Dwalin’s words made him feel guilty for his earlier thoughts of abandonment. Of course they wouldn’t think of abandoning him. _Of course they wouldn’t_. “I have to…I have to come with you,” he stammers. “I…I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to them…to _anyone_ if I wasn’t there to help. Dwalin, _please_.” He searches his weapons master’s face for any sign that he will relent. “Please. _Trust_ me. I can do this. I can help. I belong there,” he rambles, all but begging.

Finally, Dwalin nods. “I know,” he murmurs again. “I know. I will…I will speak with Thorin, and the company,” he promises. “I cannot guarantee you be permitted to come, but I…I will vouch for you.”

Overwhelmed with gratitude, Kíli throws his arms around Dwalin and hugs him tight, a sob of relief busting from his lungs before he utters a quiet mantra of ‘thank you’s. Dwalin grips him just as tightly and presses a kiss against his hair.

“And know this,” he whispers, voice gruff with emotion. “I will protect you with everything I have. _Everything_ ,” he swears.

Kíli doesn’t doubt him for a second.

* * *

 

Thorin doesn’t bother knocking on the door to the lad’s bedroom. He can hear Fíli’s angry pacing through the thick wood that separates them, and he isn’t looking forward to this conversation. He hesitates outside the door, unwilling to go inside, but knowing that he must all the same.

He’d failed them. Both of them.

Fíli had trusted him. Thorin had _promised_ that Kíli wouldn’t find out, that they would make this as painless as possible for him, that he would be kept _safe_. And he’d mucked it all up.  Kíli knew, and it had crushed him, just as Fíli had predicted. Thorin had no idea what would happen next, but he knew that Fíli was overburdened with a guilt he never should have had to bear. And Thorin was the one who had put it there.

He couldn’t imagine what Kíli would do now. He trusted that Dwalin would find him and keep him safe, but now that he knew of the quest…his mind supplied him with plenty of scenarios, from the lad forsaking them and running away, never to be seen again, or that Kíli, the excellent tracker that he was, would follow them regardless of his inclusion. None of played nicely in his head. Kíli would either despise him for his deception or be lost on the quest. There was no happy ending that he could see. He’d lost Kíli, he was sure of it.

And now he would lose Fíli too.

Finally, he musters up the courage and pushes open the door, slipping in as discretely as possible before letting it fall shut behind him. “Fíli,” he calls when the lad doesn’t even acknowledge him.

Abruptly, Fíli stops and fixes him with a fierce, albeit teary glare. “This is _your_ fault,” he hisses, anger radiating from his shaking form. He’s only seen his heir so angry a handful of times, all of them when someone or something threatened Kíli. “You _lied_ to me,” he continues. “You gave me your _word_ that he wouldn’t find out. That this wouldn’t hurt him! And you _lied_!” he snaps, two fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, and Thorin almost wishes he would strike him.

He’d deserve it.

“I did not mean for him to find out this way,” Thorin says, raising his hands in surrender when Fíli looks ready to lash into him once more. “The fault is mine,” he admits. “I was careless to have us meet in our own home. Foolish even.”

“I’m not going,” Fíli snaps, voice venomous. “I will not leave him here. I will not _lie_ to him anymore. Not for _you_.”

“Fíli,” he implores, deeply hurt by his nephew’s words, but knowing he deserves it all the same. “I need you with me. You are my heir; you deserve to step foot into those halls as we reclaim the mountain.”

“Does Kíli not deserve the same?” Fíli protests. “Is he not your heir?”

“You know what he is, Fíli…”

“He is my _brother_. He is all that I have,” he interrupts, voice shaking with emotion. “I will not leave him here hurting to follow you. You take both of us or none at all.” He fixes him with a glare that is pure iron and steel and leaves no room for argument. “Leave me,” he practically snarls. “I have to find a way to heal the hurts you have caused.”

Thorin flees from the room like a small child escaping a scolding, retreating to his own room where he leans heavily against the door once he closes it tight behind him, barricading himself away from Fíli and the rest of the company. He doesn’t know what to do.

He either leaves them behind, knowing that neither of them would ever trust him again, or he risks _everything_ he has to keep them both by his side.

It is an impossible choice.

* * *

 

“You take both of us or none at all.”

The dwarrow congregated in the sitting room cast nervous glances around at each other. Fíli’s angry shout had effectively silenced the light chatter they had engaged in. Finally, Bofur says what many of them were already thinking.

“Would it be so bad?”

Balin shoots him a nasty glare. “This quest would assure his death. I find it hard to imagine that we will be able to reach the mountain without any threats to Thorin or Fíli’s lives.”

“But there would be ten of us they’d have to fight through to even get to him,” Nori observes. “We all swore oaths to protect the line of Durin; does that not include Kíli?”

Several of them murmur in agreement, but Balin, Dori, and Oin shake their heads.

“He’s not even of age,” Dori grumbles. “Our youths have no place on a quest like this.”

“And it would be foolish to risk the entire line of Durin at once. Our enemies could use one attack alone to wipe them out,” Balin continues, finality in his tone.

“But again, they’d have to fight through _all_ of us,” Gloin says. Oin glares at him. “Oh, what? You’d be all right with leaving me behind on a quest that you may not survive? You wouldn’t fight for me to come along?”

Oin’s expression turns thoughtful. “Yes,” he admits. “I would. Families aren’t meant to be split.” Bofur and Bombur also share a meaningful glance.

“And you and I aren’t even half as close as those two are,” Gloin murmurs. “It would be torture to split them apart. The lad is right; they go together or not at all.”

Balin shakes his head. “You’re all mad,” he mutters as he stalks back into the kitchen

“Perhaps we should call for a vote once things have settled a bit,” Gandalf, who had previously been a silent observer, suggests. “That is how it is worded in the contract, is it not? If the company votes to include another member, then included they shall be.”

“Aye,” Bofur murmurs quietly. “Perhaps we should.”

* * *

 

“Go on, laddie,” Dwalin murmurs once they’ve stepped back into the settlement. “I’m sure Missus Eila still needs your help; I’ll send for you when all is done.”

Kíli nods, trepidation clear in his features, and hesitates for just a moment before doing as he’s asked.

He’s a good lad, Dwalin knows; he is kind-hearted and fiercely loyal. He would be a fine addition to the company, and were Dwalin not so attached to him, he would have fought for his inclusion earlier. Still, he is afraid to voice his feelings, to see how Thorin and Fíli would react.

He hasn’t forgotten Frerin.

Dwalin was the one who had stumbled upon the brothers after Azanulbizar. _He_ was the one who found Thorin clutching the lifeless body of his beloved little brother, and when Thorin could not find the strength to stand and carry himself forward, _he_ was the one to lift Frerin’s broken form into his arms and bring him back to his people, with Thorin leaning so heavily on his side.

They were young, _so_ young, and far, far too young to know such hurts.

Had Frerin survived, he has no doubt that Thorin would think nothing of bringing his youngest heir on their quest. Kíli was a skilled enough warrior, and his tendency to be a bit reckless in his fighting style had been tempered in the years since he joined the patrol. There was no reason _not_ to bring him, aside from Thorin’s fear of loss.

He knows that asking Thorin to reconsider and call for a vote to bring Kíli means that he is asking his closest friend to risk reliving the worst of his horrors. Yet, he cannot sit idly by at let this happen, not now that Kíli knows. He has to try.

With a sigh and a glance to the lad’s retreating form, he steels himself as he sets off for Thorin’s home.

If this inevitably means that his life is forfeit for Kíli’s, then that is a price he is more than willing to pay.

* * *

 

Fíli paces for a while longer, trying desperately to quell his anger. He knows he was out of line with Thorin, but he could not have helped it.

This was _wrong_. He knew it from the moment Thorin had asked him to lie to his brother. Yet Fíli had been willing, as he always aimed to please his uncle, and Kíli’s safety was paramount in his mind. But always it sat ill with him. Kíli had picked up on his souring mood, of course, which only led to more lies.

He thought he was doing this to keep Kíli safe, but the more he thought on it, the more he realized just how dangerous the settlement would be. Their population had never really recovered from Thorin’s sudden departure a few years prior. Their guard numbered at just sixty dwarrow, tasked with protecting the three hundred or so who still lived within the halls. Goblins had become more prominent near their lands, and though they were easy enough to dispose of, it was dangerous work.

He did not like the thought of removing two of their highest-ranking warriors and leaving lesser dwarrow in charge. Their inexperience in battle could put Kíli in danger.

There was also the realization that Kíli would probably have to go back to the mines. The tavern would not need as much help as it once did, not now that their population was dwindling. He would have to take on something else to make enough coin to survive. Perhaps he could manage with making carvings or working in the forge, but Fíli still feared it would not be enough.

What distressed him the most was that he wouldn’t be able to protect his brother. He would be half a world away. If something were to happen…

There would be nothing he could do.

He saw it now. If there was no place for Kíli on this quest, then there was no place for him either.

The sound of their front door slamming shut snaps him out of his thoughts and dissipates his anger. He hastily exits his bedroom and ventures into the front room. “Kíli?” he calls as he reaches it, but is dismayed to only see Dwalin. “Where is he?”

“Back at the Inn; finishing up his tasks,” the warrior explains, but there is an unreadable expression in his eyes. “Where is your uncle?”

“Here,” Thorin says as he emerges from behind him. “Shall we continue?” he murmurs, gesturing toward their living room.

“I propose a vote,” Dwalin declares, his brow set in a determined line. “I propose that we vote to include Kíli in the company.”

Thorin lets out a surprised gasp, but he doesn’t look back to see his expression. Pure adrenaline courses through him, and Fíli is as surprised as everyone else when he says, “I second.”

“I think that would be wise,” Gandalf agrees, offering a warm smile of encouragement to Fíli.

Thorin is quiet for a long while. The other members of the company are nervously looking among the three of them as they wait. Their rightful king as full control over the company; he could refuse to allow the vote, and there would be little they could do to persuade him to reconsider.

“Very well,” Thorin finally whispers, his tone tight and guarded. He only sounds that way when he is hurt or threatened, and a tiny bit of guilt gnaws at the back of Fíli’s mind for making him feel that way. He and Dwalin have forced his hand, and Thorin would have to accept whatever decision the company came to.

But no. _No_. This was for Kíli. This was the _right_ thing to do.

Wordlessly, they all return to the table and settle into their respective seats. Fíli realizes that his hands are still shaking, so he keeps them clenched against his thighs, hidden under the table. This is it. They either vote to include Kíli, or Fíli will void his contract and leave.

They go together. He won’t leave his brother alone. _Ever_.

“Let us get to it, then,” Balin says. “We vote to add Kíli, son of Dís to the company. A majority vote is all that is required; that means seven. If accepted, your share in the wealth will become one-thirteenth of all profits.” He looks around the table, finally settling on Dwalin. “What say you?”

“Aye,” Dwalin says with a regretful glance at Thorin. “He belongs with us. He belongs in the company.”

Balin nods and records his vote, then turns to Dori, who sits to Dwalin’s right. “Nay,” he says. “He is too young,” he adds as clarification.

Nori comes next. “Aye.” Then Thorin, with a quick and definitive “nay.” Gloin votes to bring his brother in, but Oin does not. Gandalf, as he is not an official member of the company, does not vote. Balin votes against, but Bifur, Bombur, and Bofur are for it.

Six votes. His is the last one they need. Voice trembling, he manages to utter, “aye,” and is a little surprised to hear Ori say the same.

Eight for. Four against.

Kíli is coming with them.

Relief floods him in waves. He knows that he will do everything in his power to keep Kíli from harm, to keep him from needing to fulfill his oath. He will be _careful_ , and if he is careful then his life won’t even be in danger, and Kíli will be _safe_.

Thorin closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. Fíli doesn’t miss how haunted his uncle looks when his eyes reopen.

Doubt fills him then, and he wonders if he’s just helped to send his brother to his death. _No_ , he scolds himself. _No_ , he won’t let it happen.

“Very well then,” Balin whispers, looking just as stricken as Thorin. “We will offer a contract to the lad.”

“Send for him, then,” Thorin demands Dwalin. “And fetch me when you’ve returned,” he adds, before standing and leaving the room without a backward glance.

“Thank you,” Fíli murmurs, and Dwalin echoes him as he stands to leave, giving him a soft, fond smile as he does.

“We’ll help to protect him, lad,” Bofur promises, and the rest of them, even those who had been opposed to bringing his brother with them, nod in agreement.

* * *

 

“Kíli, son of Dís, spare to the throne of Erebor,” Balin speaks, voice clear and firm in the evening air. They have gathered in the sitting room, Thorin sitting in an armchair as if it were a throne, Fíli standing to his right and Kíli kneeling before them. The rest of them are gathered around, watching in silence. “Do you swear to protect your King and Prince for as long as you draw breath?”

Kíli’s voice is firm when he answers. “I swear.”

“Do you swear to preserve the line of Durin with shield and body? To forfeit you life in favor of theirs, should dire situations require it?”

This time, his voice trembles a bit. “I swear.”

“And do you, Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain, accept this oath?” Balin asks, turning now to look at his old friend.

Thorin sits quietly for a long moment, eyes watching Kíli intently. The lad begins to grow antsy under his intense gaze. “I do not,” Thorin finally says.

Kíli nearly collapses in shock and disappointment, and the twelve other observers turn to regard Thorin critically. “Thorin,” Dwalin warns, clearly ready to argue, but Thorin only raises a hand to silence him.

“If you are forced to chose, you are to protect your brother over me,” he clarifies.

Kíli shakes his head. “Uncle, no…” he murmurs.

“You owe no oath to me; your primary task is to protect your brother so that he may one day sit on the throne of Erebor,” he continues. “You are only to forfeit your life is there is no other option.”

“I won’t sit by if I can help you,” Kíli protests, but calms when Thorin leans down to cup his cheek gently.

“I know you won’t,” he agrees. “But you must see to your brother first. Do you swear it?”

Kíli is quiet for a long while, and all of them wait with baited breath to see what he will say. It was an unexpected twist, to see Thorin make such a sacrificial move. It shows just how deeply he cares for his sister-sons, that he would risk returning to his own rightful seat on the throne to ensure that his line endures.

“What say you?” Thorin asks, sounding unsure of himself.

Kíli’s eyes are on his brother when he finally answers. “I swear.”

* * *

 

Fíli all but hauls his brother back to their bedroom once his oath is complete. There will be much more planning to come in the following days – new contracts will need to be signed and travel plans rearranged – but he needs to fix what he has broken _now_.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as soon as the door slips shut behind them. He hadn’t missed the hurt look his brother had shot him when he’d returned home. “I’m so sorry, Kee.”

Kíli still looks positively wounded. “You lied to me,” he whispers. “I trusted you, and you _lied_ to me.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he explains. “Honest, Kíli. I…I knew it would hurt you, but I couldn’t see another way.”

Kíli is quiet for a long while, arms wrapped around his torso as he watches his brother intensely. “Dwalin said you voted for me,” he says softly.

Fíli nods. “I did. And if we would not have voted to bring you I was going to void my contract.” At that, Kíli’s gaze snaps up to his face in surprise. “I realized that…nothing good would come of us being apart. We protect _each other_. We always have. And I cannot do that if you are half a world away from me.”

“Fee,” Kíli mumbles, arms unfolding from around himself to fall limply at his side.

“I’m sorry,” Fíli whispers again, closing the gap between them and cupping his brother face with both hands. He presses their foreheads together. “I’m so, so sorry, Kíli. I thought I was keeping you safe. I never meant to hurt you.”

Kíli reaches a hand up to squeeze the back of Fíli’s neck. “I know,” he murmurs finally. “I know. It’s okay.”

Letting out a quiet sob of relief, Fíli gathers his little brother in arms and hugs him tightly, praying to the Maker that he will never have to live in a world where his brother is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, friends! I will post a brief interlude with some Thorin/Dwalin aftermath, but it didn’t feel right in his chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it! I am so, so sorry that it took so long.


	24. Eighty-One and Seventy-Six - Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN – I can’t really even apologize for taking a year and a half to get back to writing. Suffice it to say that real life has been a complete whirlwind. BUT, I am getting back into writing and I should be able to get the rest of this story typed up and posted within the next couple of months! So, even though it feels insane to say because I don’t really deserve forgiveness, I am so, so sorry that it has taken me so long to get back into writing, and that I’m only giving you this tiny little piece. I hope that you enjoy it, and I appreciate all of you who have been so encouraging and patient with me!
> 
> Warnings: Dwalin says a potty word.

An uncomfortable weight has settled atop his chest. In his heart, Dwalin knows that he has done the right thing by telling Kíli the truth, just as surely as he knows he has betrayed Thorin by doing so. He can only hope that this is a betrayal Thorin will forgive. They’ve known each other their entire lives, and been through more quarrels than most, but it still sits ill with him that he forced Thorin’s hand.

He knew Kíli; he had trained him himself. The lad was as ready as any of the rest of them to embark on this quest. Thorin knew, too, but his reluctance was understandable. Those boys meant the world to Thorin, and the thought of losing both of them on a quest to slay a dragon was not an easy one for Thorin to ignore. Still, Gandalf was right that they needed more members in the company, and an extra dwarf was worth 100 men.

Dwalin navigates through the sitting room where the rest of the company is in drastically varying moods. His brother is positively sulking from his seat by the fire (as much as Balin attempted to play the stern schoolmaster, he was just as fond of the boys as anyone else), while Ori happily chats with his brothers on the other side of the room. He nods as he passes by the old wizard, who regards him with a kindly expression and a hint of a smile, as he continues down the hall. Thorin had retreated to his room once Kíli’s oath was complete, without acknowledging anyone else. Dwalin wanted to make sure that his friend was all right, especially given the odd turn the oath had taken.

He pushes the door open without bothering to knock, and almost falls over backwards at what he sees.

Thorin is sitting with his back against his bed, and he is _crying_. His face is buried in his hands, shoulders shaking with the force of his silent sobs.

Close as they are, Dwalin has only seen him cry and handful of times, and it feels like unfamiliar territory every time. “Thorin,” he murmurs, pushing the door closed behind him before he settles down beside him, shoulders pressed close.

Thorin doesn’t lift his head, but takes a deep breath to calm his shaking. “I’m fine,” he grumbles.

“You’re a shit liar,” he retorts, and Thorin chokes on a watery laugh.

“I’m sending him to his death,” he mumbles, hands fisting in his hair. “I can’t…”

“You’re not,” Dwalin reassures him. “We’re going to do everything we can to keep him safe. To keep them both safe.”

Thorin shakes his head. “After Dis and Víli died…I…I _swore_ I would protect them and I’m taking them halfway across the world, and…” He chokes on another sob, loosing his composure to continue.

“There are no guarantees out in the wild,” Dwalin murmurs softly. “You and I both know this. But there are 10 dwarves who will lay their lives down for them without a second thought-“

“ _I_ will die before any harm comes to them, Dwalin,” he interjects. “You know that I will.”

Dwalin nudges him gently with his shoulder. “He’s just like you, you know? Kíli, I mean,” he adds, when Thorin casts him a curious glance.

The king sighs as he finally lifts his head, resting it against the side of his bed. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

\------

“Uncle?”

It was late. The rest of the company had left and he’d sent the boys to bed hours ago. Balin had stayed behind, wanting to rearrange the travel plans now that Kíli was officially a member of the company.

“Fíli,” he acknowledges with a slight nod of his head. “It’s late. You have patrol tomorrow morning, don’t you?”

Fíli nods as he creeps the rest of the way into the room, giving Balin a soft smile as well. “I do…I just…I wanted to talk to you.”

Balin stands and stretches his stiff legs. “I’ll give you a little privacy,” he offers with a wink. “Need to stretch these old bones anyway.”

“Thank you,” Fíli murmurs as he passes, before sheepishly sitting in his vacated chair.

Despite his physical and emotional fatigue, Thorin does not miss his nephew’s flighty behavior. “What troubles you, my boy?”

“I was…I was out of line, earlier,” he says. “It was not my place to yell at you.”

Thorin chuckled lightly, drawing a confused look from the lad. “It was exactly your place,” he clarifies. “I was wrong; I needed you to help me see as much.”

Fíli still looks startled, but nods in understanding. “I…okay.”

“How is he?” Thorin asks, steering the conversation in a different direction.

“He’s…okay. We talked and I think he understands why we…why _I_ lied to him,” Fíli all but whispers.

Thorin nods. He was glad to hear that. Kíli was like his uncle in all of the worst ways, but he never did hold a grudge the way Thorin did. Kíli loved quickly and easily and forgave just as well, just as his father had. “And how are you?” he continues.

“I’m…” Fíli furrows his brow, as if he is processing his emotions on the spot. “I’m scared,” he finally settles on. “I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking of everything that could go wrong. I won’t…I won’t be able to forgive myself if anything happens to him.”

“Neither will I,” Thorin whispers as he rises from his chair. He crouches down to be eye-level with Fíli. “We must do everything we can to keep him safe. No one must know of this quest.” Fíli nods, and Thorin cups his cheeks in his hands and presses their foreheads together. “Do not fret over things that have not come to pass, my boy,” he murmurs. “Please.” His voice breaks on his last word, and Fíli brings his arms up to wrap around him.

He does not know how long they stay wrapped in that embrace, drawing strength from one another. Fíli has always been so independent and strong, and moments like this are rare from him, so he cherishes it.

Eventually, Fíli’s arms drop away as Balin’s shuffling footsteps echo down the hallway once more. “Go,” Thorin murmurs, dropping his hand down to squeeze the back of his neck affectionately. “Sleep, my boy.”

Fíli nods and stands to retreat to his room, murmuring a greeting to Balin as the older dwarf returns to the study.

Balin settles back down into his chair as Thorin does the same, before catching his king’s eye with an impish smile as he mutters, “Softie.”

\------

 Thanks for reading and being so patient with me, bbs!


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